Take Me Away
by ProdigiousGirl
Summary: Matthew lives in a warzone between his biological father, Francis, and his stepfather, Arthur. One day things change when Matthew meets Alfred, the son of an American billionaire. The two run away together and travel the globe to escape it all. USCan, FrUk, others along the way...
1. Chapter 1

**Take Me Away**

Synopsis: Matthew lives in a warzone between his biological father, Francis, and his stepfather, Arthur. One day things change when Matthew meets Alfred, the son of an American billionaire. The two run away together and travel the globe to escape it all.

A/N: While the title is based on Fefe Dobson's song "Take Me Away" the actual story itself is slightly based on B.O.B's single "So Good". It's not a song fic though…these songs just helped inspire the writing behind it.

A/N2: I don't know how long this story will be…it has a loose plot so…Also, it's rated M for a reason…you'll see why somewhere down the line.

A/N3: I don't know anything about lacrosse. Not many Canadians do…which is kind of a shame since it's one of the many sports we invented. It is, in fact, our national summer sport (hockey is our national winter sport).

The main over all pairing is USCan, but there will be others showing up. The other immediate pairing (for now) is FrUk. I'll let you know when another one surfaces.

* * *

Crash!

Matthew cringed upstairs in his room as he heard the sound of some type of dishware being thrown against the wall. He was sure it was probably his stepfather Arthur who had done it since his biological father, Francis, would never think to break a wine glass or plate. Not only would there be one less plate or glass for his precious food and wine, but there'd also be a horrible mess to clean up.

He sat for several minutes trying to drown out the aggravated shouts of his father and stepfather with loud music tucked away in his giant faux-leather rimmed headphones but when a second loud crash was heard over the classic rock band he was listening to he turned his iPod off and dashed downstairs to make sure neither of them were hurt.

It was the same old, same old for Matthew. Days, even months at a time, would go by and things would be fine. Francis would chat pleasantly with Arthur about his cooking class at the local college and Arthur would share the office gossip of his small financial company with Francis. The two would laugh and discuss things over a glass of alcohol – Francis favouring a nice glass of Chardonnay, while Arthur preferred a pint of beer. However, when things got ugly, they were _seriously_ ugly. And dangerous. Matthew was surprised no one had called the police or children's aid on them yet. The two adults would shout verbal abuse at each other, calling each other horrible names, they'd throw punches at each other and slap each other, they'd threaten divorce or police intervention, and sometimes Arthur was bold enough to threaten to take Matthew away – something which when Matthew was younger would really set his father off. The threat was no longer useful however, as Matthew was now an adult himself; freshly 19.

Reaching the bottom step of the classic 1930's brick "downtown" style home Matthew turn on his heel on the wooden floored hallway, which was quite narrow, and headed away from the front door towards the kitchen at the back of the house. This is where all the noise was coming from.

Entering the room he saw two shattered wine glasses at the base of the far wall, adjacent to the backdoor. Yup, he thought to himself, definitely Arthur. He looked to the other side of the room past the light brown, circular wooden table to where Francis was pointing an angry finger at Arthur yelling at the Brit for smashing his two favourite wine glasses.

"You're going to buy new ones for me! And you'd better make sure I like them!" Francis screamed in his thick French accent.

"I'm not buying you a bloody thing!" The Englishman charged back, his voice swirling.

Matthew sighed internally. He's drunk; no, they're both drunk. That was usually when it got bad. If the two were fighting as sober men it tended to resolve itself with them turning their backs to each other and shouting things as they walked away. When they were drunk however, it was a never ending battle where they fought to have the last (and most threatening) word. When they were drunk, backing down was not an option. It was what Matthew hated about both of them the most. They had egos the size of the universe – an ego that wouldn't let logic through when it was needed the most.

Matthew hoped his intervention would loosen things up – sometimes it did, sometimes it made things worse and sometimes they ignored him or turned their fury on him. "Dad? Is everything ok?"

Both Francis and Arthur looked over at the blonde haired young man and blinked. The room fell into a momentary silence. But just as suddenly as it went quiet, the arguments just as quickly came back…

"Everything is fine, Matthew. Go back upstairs." Arthur instructed him.

"Everything is NOT fine! You broke my wine glasses!" Francis hissed, "And don't talk to my son!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Oh for God's sake…"

This time around Matthew seemed to have made things worse as he was now being used as an indirect pawn in their fight. The two older men clashed with each other over "ownership" issues regarding Matthew and Francis continued to whine about his glasses, "First you destroy my invaluable wine glasses, now you're trying to steal MY son!"

"Seriously guys!" Matthew attempted to raise his own voice so he could be heard, "Enough! Stop! If you can't get along right now just don't talk to each other!"

To Matthew it was simple. If you were having a rough time with someone, avoid contact and let the situation simmer down. To Matthew a stupid fight over a couple of wine glasses wasn't worth nearly twelve years of partnership. To him it was so logical; why couldn't Francis and Arthur see that?

"Matthew, go away!" Arthur shooed him out of the kitchen, "This is none of your business."

"No!" Francis fought back, "I want a witness to everything you're doing! Mathieu, stay there, I want a witness when I call the police."

Matthew's pleads for his papa not to do that were drowned out by Arthur bellowing out a laugh, "Oh, you're going to call the police are you?"

"Oui! Yes, I am."

"Non père," Matthew frowned, "you don't need to do that. You just need to go somewhere else…"

"Why should I go somewhere else?" Francis snapped at his son.

"No, I didn't mean it like that…" Matthew voice was starting to shake under pressure.

"See, even Matthew doesn't want you around," Arthur jabbed.

"That's not what I was trying to say…" Matthew tried to clarify himself but was continually ignored by the two in favour of attacking each other with cheap shots.

"Come along then Matthew," Arthur staggered away from the kitchen counter past the fridge, "We'll go live without Francis."

"No you're not!" Francis grabbed Arthur's wrist as he walked away.

"Take your hands off me!" Arthur broke free of the grip and pushed the Frenchman back towards the sink.

Oh no. This was always Matthew's most hated part – the physical violence. There was only one option at this time and that was to get between them. It meant Matthew might have to take some hits himself (as they attempted to reach across him to hit each other) but at least it would keep them divided.

On this particular occasion Matthew decided that he'd take a different path – one that had been more successful in the past. He still managed to wedge himself between his father and stepfather but instead of taking hits from them he grabbed the cellphone out of Francis's hand and dashed to the living room with it.

"Mathieu!" Francis called after him, "Where are you going with my phone!"

The confusion seemed to have killed the tension between the two arguing adults long enough for Matthew to rapidly dial the number of his Uncle Bruce. Bruce, a proud Scotsman, was Arthur's older brother and had been the one who had introduced Matthew's father to Arthur. Bruce and Francis were good friends whose relationship spanned more than two decades. If anyone could break up this fight, it was him. Francis respected the man, and Arthur (more or less) feared him.

"'Ello?" A deep voice came from the other end.

"Uncle Bruce?" Matthew squeaked out.

"Mattie? Is that you, lad?" Mattie was the nickname his uncle had used for him since his birth.

"Yeah, it's me…" Matthew's voice gave away his trouble.

"What's wrong? Why do you sound so distressed?" Before Matthew could respond, the Scotsman figured it all out, "They're at it again, aren't they?"

Holding back tears of relief, joy, pain, sorrow and every other emotion mixed up inside him Matthew nodded. His uncle didn't have to see the head movement to know it was being made, Matthew's silence alone was telling.

"Aye, I'll be there soon."

)()()()()(

Matthew was careful to watch his step as he climbed down the stairs that were imbedded into the grassy hillside. His large duffle bag filled with his lacrosse gear was blocking his view as he made his way down towards the field. He was glad the final round of tryouts was being held here instead of at the stadium; the air always felt cleaner by the river that ran through the city.

The blue eyed Canadian tossed his bag at the bottom of the slope and walked over to the coach to sign in. Before he could get there his coach saw him and nodded. The burly man called to him to get his equipment out and find a partner to toss a ball with.

Matthew headed back to his bag and proceeded to pull out his long lacrosse stick and a white sphere similar to the size of a tennis ball. Scrounging around in his bag for some gripping gloves he found a small, slightly ruffled picture of he and his two dads. He stared at it momentarily before letting the image fall to the back of his mind and zipping up his bag.

It had been a week and a half since the large brawl out between Arthur and Francis. In ten minutes flat Uncle Bruce had arrived at the house and was working to settle the two aggressors down. After what, to Matthew, felt like forever the tall Scotsman managed to separate the English and Frenchman and eventually removed Arthur from the home after he attempted a swipe at his own brother. It wasn't until the following evening that the Brit returned home, but even than all was silent in the household. Finally two days later Francis and Arthur began speaking to each other again and, as usual, it was over something small and silly.

"Would you pass me a mug?" Arthur said one morning, reading the paper.

"Uh, yeah…sure," Francis, standing by the cupboards turned and grabbed a mug, "Do you want me to pour some coffee in it?"

"Yes," Arthur responded not looking up from the article he was reading about the European Union's burden of tackling Greece's national debt, "Please."

And that was how they started talking to each other again.

"Hey Matthew!" One of his friends from the university he was attending waved, "Come over here. You, me and Greg can pass the ball to each other!"

"Yeah! Sure!" Matthew waved back and ran over.

After practicing for a few minutes the coach blew the whistle and called the boys in. It was time to get serious. The city had a reputation for having a strong lacrosse team and the coach was determined to pick the best in order to become the first coach in the Canadian Amateur Lacrosse Association's history to three-peat as champion. When, four years ago, the city lost in the semi-finals they called on Coach Birmingham to fix the team up and since then the city went on to win two finals in a row. Matthew had been a part of last year's winning team. He proudly displayed his trophy on his dresser in his room along with a detailed article cropped from the local newspaper.

"Okay boys," The coach spoke loudly in a booming voice, "Lots of good news and bad news this year. The bad news is that only three cities across this country have ever repeated a championship three years in a row. The good news is that our city is one of them. If we're going to win again we need the best of the best talent. Hope you boys like working up a sweat, because today is going to be tough!"

The group of remaining tryout kids were split into two teams. Matthew was fortunate enough to be on a team with his two university mates, Greg and Nathan.

Greg was the tallest of the group and only knew Matthew through association with Nathan. He was tanned and lean, but the muscles on him were still clearly visible. Matthew thought he looked more like a basketball player than a lacrosse star. His brown hair was cut short and was gelled up in the front. Like Matthew and Nathan he was wearing the appropriate t-shirt (white) and knee length shorts (black).

Nathan had had a few classes and tutorials with Matthew over the past year. Nathan had also tried out for the hockey team, but failed to make the cut. He was more of a summer sports person anyway, he argued, shrugging the whole thing off. Matthew liked Nathan because he was a calm and quiet person, but still fun to be around. Matthew both respected and agreed with his very liberal ideas. Nathan came to the try outs in a blue t-shirt with a darker blue logo on it and dark blue shorts. He normally wore a chain around his neck, which Matthew could only assume he'd taken off for practice. His messy chestnut brown, bordering black hair was hidden underneath his orange helmet – a mandatory piece of equipment.

Before coming to practice Matthew had opted to wear his lucky red Team Canada t-shirt, the same one he'd worn the day his hockey team won their championship a few months back. Like Greg, he was wearing black shorts, but he had a red stripe running down either side of the outer leg.

The nets, styled similar to soccer nets only they were much smaller and the mesh was pulled back into a triangular shape, were set up quickly as the whistle was blown. The coach tossed the ball in the air and two teams official began their challenge.

Matthew was the third one to nab the ball. Running a good 30 yards from the centre he reached the net of the opponents team, who, to be properly identified were wearing orange sashes around their waists. Seeing two larger boys about to tackle him he threw the ball over to Greg who had caught up to him. Greg proceeded to pass the ball to another teammate before it reached Nathan who had finally caught up in the rear. By now Matthew had managed to get back up and had a direct position in front of, though facing away from, the net. Nathan wasted no time passing the ball to him. Believing he didn't have time to pivot around Matthew wiped the ball between his legs hoping for the best.

Success! The ball went in and the non-striped team rejoiced, huddling together in a tight embrace. Every goal their group got meant one step closer to being on the official team.

Gathering back at the centre of the field the process started all over again. By the end of the game Matthew had scored a hat trick and two assists. It was more than clear that last year's overtime goal scorer would be on the team again this year.

)()()()()(

"Congratulations Matt," Nathan patted the blonde on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Matthew frowned, "It's just too bad you were cut. I could've sworn you'd make it. You had a lot of great passes."

Nathan shrugged, "Well if it's any consolation, if anyone gets injured I'm next in line to take their place."

The young man's positive attitude made Matthew feel better. At least someone was seeing the upside.

"Well anyway," Nathan added on, "Greg and I are going to grab a slice of pizza. A kind of celebration for him making the roster and me being on the back-up list. Wanna come?"

Matthew thought about it for a second before deciding to decline, "Nah, I think I'm going to head home."

"Well, alright than. Hope to see you over the summer." Nathan gave a quick wave over his shoulder as he walked with Greg down the sidewalk at the top of the grassy hill.

Matthew turned and walked in the other direction, ignoring the sound of the cars on the road beside him. On the other side of the street people were busy running back and forth between stores located at the bottom of tall buildings. Matthew examined them for a moment wondering what was in the upper level of the structures. Apartments? Offices maybe? Realizing it didn't matter he headed for home.

"Oh hey, it's you."

Matthew continued walking, drowning the sound of chatting people out.

"Dude, I'm talking to you."

Strolling along the Canadian thought of taking his iPod out and placing the accompanying tiny white buds in his ears. He was longing to listen to music but his ears were still slightly ringing from all the effort he had put into today's tryout practice.

"Are you seriously going to ignore me? That's kind of rude you know."

Matthew was startled by a hand on his shoulder. Whipping himself around he came face to face with another blonde. The Canadian had a signature curl that liked to creep out of his hair, but this blonde had an ahoge poking out at the top. The out of place hair made Matthew want to laugh, but knowing it would be impolite opted not to.

"I'm sorry…" Was all Matthew could think to say as he stared into similar blue eyes.

The young man shrugged, "Nah, that's okay. There are a lot of people on the street. I guess you just didn't know I was calling for you."

Matthew smiled no longer feeling so guilty, "I'm sorry if I sound ill-mannered but…why were you calling me? I mean, I don't think we've met before."

The other blonde laughed heartily, "No, we haven't! Sorry! I saw you playing lacrosse back there and thought you were really good; just wanted to tell you that. Where I come from great athletes are very highly prized."

"I see…" Matthew went blank for a moment. Suddenly a question popped into his head, "If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? You don't sound like you live here."

The young man laughed again, "Nope, you're right. I'm not from here. I'm from the States. New York to be exact…well…most of the time…sometimes we're from Florida and sometimes California."

"We're?"

"Oh right," The American bonked himself lightly on the head, "My dad and I. He's here for a business convention and since he wants me to learn the trade he dragged me up here with him. It's kind of boring, really."

"So your dad owns a business?" Matthew couldn't comprehend why he was wasting time talking to this kid, but he didn't want to be impolite and just leave.

"Yeah, a tech company. You know, computers and stuff. Just…lots of technology."

"Oh," Matthew nodded, "So you're part of that infamous 1% Americans are going on about."

The young man frowned, looking a little disheartened by the comment.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to insult you." Matthew added his own frown.

"No, that's okay," He responded, readjusting his square-shaped glasses.

"Well…I'd better get going…" The blonde Canadian looked at his watch, "It's almost dinnertime and my parents are expecting me."

"This may sound like an awkward question but," The American rubbed the back of his neck, "do you mind if I walk with you?"

"What about your dad?" Matthew pondered aloud, "Won't he worry?"

"Yeah, you see…about that," The young man rolled his eyes around thinking of the right thing to say, "Let's just say the two of us aren't on the best of terms right now. And like I said, I'm seriously bored of this business stuff."

"Well," Matthew thought about it. He didn't see the harm; it was just one walk, "Sure."

As the two carried on down the street together Matthew had the sudden urge to ask another question. It seemed so simple at the time but asking for this one piece of basic information would spark a new, unshakeable, relationship.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

* * *

Please read (well I think you've already done that part if you've gotten this far) and review. It means A LOT to authors like myself. It gives us a good idea of what's likeable about our story and things we need to do to improve. If the impression is sent that no one is reading the story, or that no one likes the story it could potentially be dropped. We wouldn't want that to happen right? So if you ever read a story you like, take minute to review it. Sometimes a one line sentence can make all the difference.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A/N: I forgot to mention this last week but updates will be once a week. Thanks to all reviewers! Love you guys!

This chapter always feels a little awkward. The story gets better after the first few, I swear! Please stay with me! (Pleads)

* * *

Matthew and Alfred continued to walk at a steady pace down the streets and around several corners. They crossed at lights – one with a crossing guard, until they reached an old narrow home off on a side street.

"So this is where you live, huh?" Alfred studied the structure with amazement. The area was a calm mix of urban and suburban.

"Yeah, it's nothing special." Matthew took a quick glance back at the brick building with a front patio.

"Well yeah," The American shrugged, "It's kind of small, I guess."

"You should probably head back," The Canadian ruffled the bag on his shoulder, "Your dad might be looking for you. Do you remember the way?"

"Yup," Alfred gave his new friend a thumbs-up, "But if I get lost I can always call Manfred."

"Who?" Matthew blinked.

"Oh…" the blond rubbed the back of his head, "He's just…our…chauffeur."

Mathieu was stunned. He had just been kidding when he brought it up but now he was starting to think Alfred really was part of the so-called 1% that Americans were protesting about. Reflecting hard on what the young man had said when they met he remember him saying something in regards to a technology company. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Jones…tech giant…

"Alfred…" Matthew's voice contained both his fear and excitement, "is your dad…David Jones?"

The man stood and stared for a moment before answering, "Yeah. That's his name, why?"

"Would he," Matthew continued, "happen to be the CEO and owner of the famous CompuTech Corporation?"

Alfred shrugged, "So what if he is? He only got the position because my grandfather decided to retire early."

The Canadian's mouth dropped right open, "You mean George Jones…is your grandfather?"

The American twisted his mouth a little, "How do you know so much about my family? Unless you're in to technology…I guess it makes sense then."

"Everyone knows about them!" Matt blurted out, attracting some small attention from the elderly couple walking on the other side of the road. Noticing his blunder he quieted his voice, "Everyone knows CompuTech is one of the largest and richest technology companies out there. You guys are billionaires!"

"Correction," Alfred butt in, "My father is a billionaire. I'm just a plain old millionaire."

Matthew glared, "What do you mean plain old? That's certainly a lot better than most of us."

The American, dressed in his favourite bomber jacket shrugged again, "Well if it's any consolation I earned most of the money on my own. Between helping dad with his company, buying stocks, and being a kick-ass poker player I've managed to create my own capital stash."

Matthew frowned, "Well good for you. Wish I was that lucky."

Alfred laughed, "No luck; just skill."

The Canadian wanted to respond but was disrupted by the ringing of a cellphone. Alfred picked up his iPhone and began talking with a man on the other end of the line. He held his index finger to Matthew signalling that when he was done they'd return to their conversation. It was no surprise to Matthew that the person on the other end was Alfred's father barking at him to return to the convention.

Sighing and shoving his bulky, rectangular phone back in his pocket he looked at the Canadian with a curl in his hair, "That was my dad. He's demanding I head back to the hotel. I'd still like to hang out some time though. I'll be here for a while and…well…you're really the only friend I've got here so…anyway, thanks for the walk…um…"

"Matthew." He couldn't fathom why he'd just given a near complete stranger his name but somehow he felt like doing it was harmless. After all, Alfred had been kind enough to give his name...why shouldn't Matthew?

"Right! Matthew!" Alfred shouted as he waved and ran off, "I'll see you later!"

After watching Alfred turn the corner Matthew opened his front door and shuffled inside. He closed it and leaned against the structure for a moment to reflect on everything that had just happened – primarily meeting the son of a billionaire. Before he could spout more than a few thoughts his father called from the kitchen.

"Mathieu? C'est tu?"

"Oui, papa" Matthew pushed away from the door and dropped his bag on the bottom stair. He headed into the kitchen to greet his dad.

Entering the kitchen Matthew was met with the smiling face of his father, Francis. The first of a series of questions started off with: How was practice? It was followed by: Did you make the team?

Matthew delighted his father with the news that he had, as expected, made the team. He told the Frenchman of all the praise the coach had given him and that "great things were expected of him".

"Someday you will be captain, you know." Francis grinned sipping a glass of white Welch's grape juice, "Because you're French."

Matthew sighed. That was what his father always said. Whenever the young Canadian did extraordinarily well his father was sure to remind him it was because he had French blood in him. He would be warned that had he had English blood he would only be half as good. Arthur usually took strong offense to this. It usually degraded into another fight.

The Canadian figured it'd be best to ignore the last part and focus on the first, "Some of the guys are saying I should be alternate captain this year."

Francis nodded, "I think so too. It will help you settle into your new role as captain next year."

Matthew frowned, "Nobody said I'd be captain next year, papa."

"Obviously," Francis tapped his cup on the table, "if they want you to be one of the alternate captains than they are grooming you to be captain."

Matthew leaned back in his wooden seat, "But it's just a rumour. There's no point in getting excited over it."

"Well, remember to tell Arthur when he gets home. I know he was expecting good news today from you." Francis pushed his chair back and stood to put his now empty cup into the sink, "Oh, and by the way…"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you should consider getting into sports professionally. You still have that old hockey demo tape from high school right?"

"It'd have to be updated, papa. Besides, I'm not sure if professional sports are for me."

"Why not?" Francis pouted, "You're so good at it! You could easily get signed with one of those fancy professional hockey teams."

"I dunno…" Matthew quickly altered the conversation not wanting to drag this one out, "Are you teaching at the college tonight?"

"Hm?" The older man had been lost in thought, "oh, oui, I am."

"Lovely," the younger slouched into his chair, "That means Arthur is cooking."

Francis laughed lightly, "Yes. It does. Je suis desolé."

"That's alright," Matthew stretched his arms up, "But if you come home and I'm dead you'll know why."

)()()()()(

Matthew stood patiently in line as he waited to pay for the hockey tape and stick he was carrying in his arms. Since the hockey season was generally over most things were going on sale – it was a great time to buy and stock up for next year.

He had managed to survive not one, but two days of Arthur's cooking. Francis had been invited out to dinner two nights ago, the night after his cooking class, leaving Arthur to cook (or attempt to cook) another meal for the two at home. Luckily his father had brought home some leftovers and let the semi-starving (and slightly sick) Matthew have what was left. Since everyone was busy yesterday it was declared at "make your own dinner night". Francis made himself a chicken wrap, Matthew enjoyed some Kraft Dinner with ketchup and Arthur ate…something…Matthew wasn't quite sure what it was supposed to be.

After purchasing his tape and stick Matthew collected his Canadian Tire money from the cashier along with his change and exited the department store via the sliding doors. He was barely three metres away from the bus stop when someone from a distance started shouting his name.

"Matthew!"

Matthew looked around. He could see no one. Then he looked back and there he was…flailing his arms around with a couple of papers in hand. It was Alfred. It had been almost three days since Matthew last saw the young man.

"Matthew!" Alfred finally caught up with the Canadian and stopped to pant. He hunched, gasping at air before pulling himself back up. "Sorry…I've been trying to find you…but it's kind of hard when all you have is a photo and first name."

Matthew recalled giving Alfred his first name…but a photo?

"I went to go look you up in the phonebook when I realized…_dude, he didn't give me his last name_! So I had to go searching – and luckily I took this picture of you at practice, so I went back to the field but couldn't find anyone that could identify you so I –"

Matthew cut Alfred off, "What do you mean, _picture_?"

"Oh yeah!" The American pulled out his iPhone and showed Matthew a picture of himself hustling on the field at lacrosse practice, "I took it a couple of days ago. I mean, you just looked so cool. I couldn't help it."

The Canadian was slightly annoyed and embarrassed that a (more or less) stranger would take his picture.

Alfred continued on with his story, "It was friggin' goose chase! I finally managed to find someone who recognized you. They were like 'oh, that's Cartier's kid' and I was like 'great!' so I looked that name up but there were so many of them! So I called all the ones that said Cartier, M but none of them were you."

Matthew was in shock. It had been a long time since someone had referred to him as a "Cartier".

Alfred carried on, "So anyway, when I asked about the lacrosse team at the headquarters for the local newspaper they said they'd pull out an old article about the team winning last year and sure enough you were in it! But…it said Bonnefoy."

"Oh," Matthew said, sounding slightly dazed. He was still jolted by the resurfacing of his "other name".

"I was able to look into birth records and stuff – the people at city hall are really nice – and your birth certificate had two names, so I guess the lady who told me Cartier wasn't lying because it was on the paper and –"

"Wait a minute," Matthew jumped in, "Slow down…you saw my birth certificate?"

"Yeah."

"I don't…get it…why…" Matthew was unsure if he'd ever been this confused before. Who was this kid and why was he so obsessed with Matthew?

"Oh sorry. Like I said, you didn't give me your last name so I had to go looking for you." Alfred gave a nervous laugh, "Who's Cartier?"

Matthew was still trying to grapple with the situation. This American guy was digging into his past and for what? To hang out? Why didn't he just find someone else to spend the day with? Why spend days trying to hunt down Matthew?

Matthew's silence was selling his insecurity. Alfred could see it, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry or anything. I was just really curious. It was like a mystery. I guess I got a little too excited. Sorry…"

The Canadian, who'd been staring at the ground looked back up, "Why would they even let you see it?"

"See what?" Alfred responded before cluing in, "Oh, I dunno…I made something up. Can't even remember what I said."

Matthew slid down onto the small grassy patch that separated the sidewalk from the parking lot of the strip mall complex. Alfred frowned watching the swirling distance in the boy's eyes, "Matthew? Why do you have two last names?"

The Canadian looked up and opened his mouth, but his attention was caught by the coming bus before he could say anything. Springing up he raced over to the bus stop with Alfred close behind.

"Dude wait!"

"I can't!" Matthew hollered back, looking over his shoulder. "I gotta get home!"

Grabbing Matthew on the arm before he could get on the bus he asked, "Can you at least give me your number or something? I mean, you wouldn't want me going back to city hall or anything right?"

In truth Alfred already had Matthew's number. He had his street address, the name of his school, heck he even knew the licence plate on Matthew's father's car! But he wanted it straight from Matthew. Alfred had always been a go-getter and while he wasn't quite sure what was drawing him to the Canadian he did know there was something secretive about the young man and Alfred wanted to know his story. The American wasn't, however, a creepy stalker. That's was why he begged Matthew for contact – he needed permission to take that next step.

To his surprise Matthew responded positively, "Yeah, fine." The Canadian quickly scribbled his number down on a piece of paper he had in his pocket and gave it to Alfred. After the exchange the doors closed behind him and the bus swiftly catapulted down the street and away from Alfred.

Looking at the paper Alfred couldn't help but laugh a little. The words were slightly smudged, "Heh…he's left-handed."

)()()()()(

Matthew sat cross-legged on his bed listening to the music on his iPod playing through his headphones. In front of him was a book on lacrosse play strategies. He had picked it up off his shelf to use as a cover in case anyone walked in on him. In truth, Matthew was absorbed in thought. He couldn't comprehend why Alfred had gone out of his way to find him – and worse yet, how Alfred managed to find out about the Cartier name. The name and its association with him was no secret, not for relatives and old friends or acquaintances but he generally tended to hide it from those who were new to him. He wasn't ashamed of the name, he was actually rather proud, but it brought back horrible memories.

Looking up from his book Matthew was startled by the image of Arthur standing in the doorway. Taking off his headphones he asked as politely as possible, "Yes? Do you need something?"

"Sorry to bother you, Matthew," Arthur leaned against the wooden frame, "but there's someone on the phone for you."

The young man arched a brow. Was it him? Already?

Leaving his music and book behind Matthew travelled out the door of his room, swung a right, and jogged down the wooden stairs to the narrow hallway where the phone rested on a skinny circular, wooden table. "Hello?"

"Hey Matthew! Sorry to call you so soon!" Matthew was right, it was Alfred. Matthew had seen him only two hours ago and the American was already calling him. The blonde was beginning to regret giving the other his number.

"Look, I called because this whole Cartier thing is bothering me!" Matthew was livid. It was none of Alfred's business who "Cartier" was. Had Arthur not been in the living room near the hallway the Canadian might have used stronger words.

"I'm sorry Alfred, but I don't like to talk about that." Even saying something that simple would attract the attention of the Brit in the other room. Matthew decided he'd draw attention away completely to avoid having two people hassle him.

"Oh," A rather sad and disappointed voice responded, "It's just that I-"

Alfred voice was drowned out by Arthur's exclamation, "Is that a limousine out there! What on earth is it doing in front of our house?"

Matthew's heart sunk. No…just…no. Hoping to dispel his fear he asked through the receiver, "Alfred…are you outside my house?"

"Weeeeeelllllll…." The American was trying to find a way to put it without upsetting the already concerned Canadian.

"You are, aren't you?" Matthew put the receiver back on the hook and walked outside to see a stretched black limo in front of the house with Alfred standing in front holding a cellphone to his ear.

"…Oh…hi." Alfred smiled, still holding the phone.

* * *

End Notes:

Just some end notes…

~I chose George as Alfred's grandfather's name for a reason – it's a reference to George Washington.

~Yes, a lot of Canadians eat Kraft Dinner (or 'mac and cheese' as everyone else would call it) with ketchup. Come to think of it…we eat A LOT of things with ketchup. According to Heinz's website Canadians and Brits like their ketchup sweeter than Americans and continental Europeans. Hmmmm.

~Canadian Tire money DOES exist. Look it up. I kid you not. Canadian Tire is a chain store that sells…like…hardware stuff. You know, "handyman" stuff. But they also have small housing appliance type things too like…ceiling fans and humidifiers and vacuums. They also have outdoor patios and…stuff. They also have stuff for your car. Just lots of…stuff. I'm sure you can just google/yahoo it on your computer. Not hard.

~Cartier – probably the SECOND most infamous name in Quebec history (next to Dion. XD HAHAHA). Anyway, it's a reference to BOTH Jacques Cartier the man who founded and named our country and George-Étienne Cartier a founder of Canadian Confederation, 1867 (and "best friend" to first Prime Minister, John A. MacDonald).


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

A/N: The last chapter was not my best writing…sorry. I hope it didn't make the overall story seem awkward. Also, after this instalment, chapters will probably be getting longer.

* * *

"No way," Matthew headed back inside the door and prepared to slam it shut, "No way at all!"

Arthur came rushing out of the living room to catch a glimpse of the limo without a glass window standing in the way, "Do you know that boy, Matthew?"

"Not really," Matthew closed the door behind him after yanking his stepfather inside.

Before the two could move away from the area a knocking was rapping on the other side, "I'm sorry Matthew, I should've told you I was coming. I guess that was kind of rude. I just wanted to talk to you…you're kind of the only person I know here."

"Go make some other friends then." Matthew responded through the door.

"Matthew!" Arthur looked at his stepson in shock. It was out of character for the boy to be so uncaring. Arthur couldn't put his finger on why Matthew was so upset with this other, very, very rich boy.

Sensing Arthur's obliviousness to situation Matthew told him the most basic thing he could spit out, "He's pestering me to talk about _her_."

Arthur frowned and backed down, instantly knowing who 'her' was. "I see."

The tapping at the door continued, "Please. I'm sorry I looked at your files…I was just curious…"

The Brit arched a brow from behind the door, "What files?"

"Oh," Matthew answered sarcastically, "I guess I didn't tell you. He's been stalking me via paperwork. He went to City Hall and dug up my birth certificate."

Arthur frowned, "Well that's…odd. Who on earth is this bloke?"

"He's the son of David Jones…you know, the American tech giant."

Matthew's stepfather nearly tripped over, eyes popping out of his head, "The billionaire!? He's the fourth richest person in America!"

"So?" The Canadian shrugged it off.

"And he wants to be your friend?" Arthur's voice was a blend of shock, confusion and enthusiasm.

"Well I'm not sure I want to be his." Matthew rebutted, "I don't want to hang around with someone that nosey."

The knocking at the door had long stopped as Matthew and Arthur's conversation carried on. Matthew wasn't sure he was confident enough to open the door and see if Alfred was still there. Finally daring himself, he did. To his horror the American was still standing there on the porch.

Alfred looked up at the two figures (a gaping Matthew and startled Arthur) looking sincerely sorrowful for his not-so-humble approach to Matthew's secret. He frowned and repeated his regrets adding that he wanted to make it up to the Canadian, "Why don't I take you out for dinner? My treat."

Matthew shook his head, "No, I don't think –"

"I'm cooking." Arthur quickly interrupted, hoping to urge the Canadian to accept the apology. He was hoping to get some alone time in with his French sweetheart out of his stepson's absence.

Matthew knew how to take a hint. Besides, if he had continued to refuse, Arthur probably would have followed through and cooked the meal just to stick it to him. "Fine. I'll go."

"Great!" Alfred's attitude did a one-eighty, "We'll ride together in the back of the limo! I've got soda and snacks back there…or…pop…that's what you guys call it, right? Pop? Why do you call it that? It kind of sounds strange, I mean –"

"Alfred." Matthew narrowed his eyes to show his disapproval of this unwelcomed behaviour.

"Sorry! Sorry!" The American rubbed his back of his head while giving a nervous grin, "I just got over excited."

"Well that's quite the understatement…" Arthur turned to head back inside, "Anyway, have a good time boys."

It had only taken Matthew a moment to throw on his shoes and a light jacket. Alfred insisted he wouldn't need more than that since everything was "on the house". The trip in the limo only took fifteen or so minutes but to Matthew it felt like a lifetime having to listen to Alfred go on and on about nonsense that Matt couldn't have been bothered to remember. When they finally reached their destination, Matthew was beyond shocked at Alfred's choice – La Bijou de Montreal, a five star restaurant with a pricey menu.

The conversation at the table continued very much the same way as it had in the limo; Alfred went on and on about nothing and Matthew took no shame in showing he wasn't interested.

After only a few minutes the waiter showed up with a jug of water containing a few slices of lemon and poured both boys a glass. He set the jug down and proceeded to take out a black notepad asking if they were ready to order.

"We should probably start with drinks." Matthew smiled at the waiter.

To this, Alfred laughed, "Matthew, we're sitting at the VIP table of a five-star restaurant. We can have dessert first if we want to."

Matthew blinked, "Well technically you could do that at any restaurant…"

The American leaned back in his seat, "I think I'm going to order everything at once. That way I get it all at once and don't have to keep waiting between meals."

The blonde opposite to him shrugged, "Well, if that's what you want. I'll just be ordering a drink and salad for now."

"Hmmm," Alfred's eyes rolled over the leather-bound menu in his hand, "I think…I'll start off with a diet coke, a bowl of chicken noodle soup, then a bacon cheeseburger – you do make burgers, right? – No? Okay, maybe a steak then and finally a large piece of cheesecake."

After scribbling down the American's order the waiter turned to Matthew, "What kind of drink and salad will you be having?"

"Oh…" Matthew skimmed over his own menu, "How about…a Pepsi and…a small chicken Caesar salad."

"I will be back with the drinks shortly," The waiter took the menus from the young men and made his way to the kitchen to fetch their drinks.

"So…" Alfred once again attempted to make conversation, "I'm guessing you're still mad at me…"

"Yeah," Matthew nodded, "I guess you could say that."

"Yeah…" Alfred echoed knitting his fingers together on the table as he slouched over, "I really didn't mean any harm by it. I guess I just like solving mysteries and stuff…kind of like a hero."

"Spying on the privacy of others doesn't make you a hero." Matthew responded, "It actually makes you look more like a criminal."

Not liking the direction the discussion was going in Alfred jumped at the chance to change the topic, "Sometimes it's good to get your secrets off your chest. You know, it'll help you lessen your burden."

"Alfred," Matthew tried to reason with a frown, "You're a complete stranger. Why would I tell you my life's story?"

The American blond undid his fingers and fidgeted in his seat, "I dunno…what harm would it do you? It's not like you'll ever see me again, right?"

Matt hated to admit it, but Alfred had a point. It's not like he'd see the young man again, and since Alfred lived in the States if he told anyone they probably wouldn't care – or at the very least they wouldn't know Matthew on a personal level. Sighing he said, "I'll think about it."

The two sat in silence until their meals were brought to them. Matthew couldn't believe the amount of food Alfred was able to consume. He was a bottomless pit! As the American finished his last bite of cheesecake – his second slice – he leaned back in his chair and exhaled in satisfaction.

"Boy was that ever good," He rubbed his stomach, licking a crumb of graham cracker crust off the corner of his mouth.

Matthew nodded, "Yes, it was nice. Thank you."

Alfred looked up in shock. Did Matthew just say what he thought he did? Did he _thank_ Alfred?

"Oh, yeah," The American fiddled with his napkin nervously, "You know…you're welcome. Glad you enjoyed it."

The Canadian stared across the table, covered in dirty plates, at the foreigner. There was something about Alfred that seemed so innocent, so playful and naïve. Matthew noticed other things too, like strength and determination. Despite being a "food vacuum" the American was still rather muscular in physique. The two features that stuck him most were those alluring blue eyes, a similar shade to his own, and his firm smile. Even though Matthew regarded Alfred as a nosey snoop there was something reassuring, something almost…safe about him.

"I guess we should get going." The American blond interrupted Matthew's thoughts.

"Oh, right."

The ride home was mostly quiet. On occasion Alfred asked Matthew questions in relation to his lifestyle. Did he play other sports? What kind of cereal did he eat in the morning? Which was his proper name: Matthew or Mathieu? Matthew tended to give short answers, but gave descriptive questions of his own. Why doesn't your dad want you completing university to gain a better understanding of the art of business? Did your limo driver drive all the way up here with your vehicle or did he take the plane with you? Alfred answered nearly every question with a laugh and a pause to think of a good response.

There was one more thing on Matthew's mind, "Why me? Of all the kids on the field…in the city…why me?"

Alfred didn't have to think the answer over. He knew why. "You look like a nicer version of me."

Matthew frowned, unsatisfied, "What does that mean?"

"Well look," Alfred pulled out a mirror from under the seat – why there was one conveniently stashed there Matthew had no clue – and placed it in front of the two, "See? Blond hair, blue eyes, your face is a bit more babyish than mine but it doesn't matter."

Matthew pulled away from the image on the mirror, "I don't get it. I don't see it at all. Do you think we're long lost siblings or something…because I can tell you for sure that we're not."

Alfred laughed, "No, dude. Nothing like it."

"We're not doppelgangers either."

"I never said we were."

Matthew stared the American down trying to figure out what he was thinking. What did he mean? What was he trying to get at?

Alfred blinked, "You're kind of looking at me funny. Are you okay?"

"Oh," Matthew shot back, pulling himself farther away from Alfred, "No, yeah."

The American was confused, "No…yeah? Which is it?"

"I'm fine." The Canadian responded. He was now feeling more awkward that he had before. Luckily, the feeling was short lived as the driver pulled up to Matthew's house. Matthew didn't hesitate to open the door and jump out. "Thank you for the dinner."

"You owe me."

Before Matthew could close the door the words sent a pain of shock through his body. What was Alfred going on about now? "What do you mean?"

"I mean," The American clarified, "I bought you dinner so…you owe me."

"Um, no," The Canadian objected, "You bought me dinner to make up for your snooping around."

The blond with the cowlick frowned, "That was an expensive salad you know."

"Hardly," Matthew narrowed his eyes, amazed at what he was hearing, "It was barely ten dollars."

"Look buddy," Alfred shot a pointy index finger at Matthew from the comfort of his limo seat, "I'm trying to set up another date with you."

Matthew flicked his eyes in surprise, "Date?"

"Uh…" Alfred pulled back looking more flabbergasted than Matthew. Thinking things through, particularly his words, was never his strong point, "N-not that kind of date! I mean…a hang out date! Like a play date! It's just short…you know…we throw it around all the time. You know, because in California you have play dates with your friends…not…you don't…you can't just go to their house whenever."

The Canadian held back a muffled laugh behind his fisted hand as the American rambled on about life and schedules in The Golden State. Finally he broke the rant agreeing to meet the American again. Just once.

"How about tomorrow?" A giddy Alfred asked rolling down the window after Matthew shut the door.

"Sure." Matthew wanted to say no. He needed a few days to recover from the evening he had spent with Alfred but chances were the American wouldn't be around for long anyway and it was best to get this "date" out of the way.

"Yes!" Alfred fist-pumped jubilantly, a smile stretched from ear to ear, "I'll be back to pick you up tomorrow. My dad's got a thing in the morning and he wants me to go so I'll be here around two in the afternoon, okay? Be ready!"

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew stepped back from the car, "Alright then. See you tomorrow."

Matthew watched the limo race off and turn the corner before crossing the street to his home. He looked up just in time to notice two nosey faces poking out from behind a curtain in his family living room. The Canadian sighed to himself knowing he'd be in for a night of Q & A.

)()()()()(

Matthew tapped the clear glass shield on his brown faux leather watch as he wondered what was keeping the American back. Alfred had said he would be at the Canadian's home around 2pm and it was now nearing 4 o'clock.

Flipping his cellphone open he wondered if he should dial Alfred's cellphone. Skimming through the digital phonebook he realized he didn't have Alfred's number. Had his father and stepfather not been so "retro" than perhaps Matthew could have checked the caller ID on his house phone from when Alfred had called the previous day. His parents however, had a classic white vintage phone. Matthew grumbled thinking about it; the only thing it was good for was starting up a conversation which usually started with, "Wow, old enough phone?" At least it wasn't as embarrassing as Arthur's bulky 1990s "Star Trek" cellphone. The Brit refused to give it up simply because it still worked. He saw no point in buying a new fancy, tiny phone that, in his opinion, did a better job being a camera than a phone. "The darn things can't even pick up a signal!" he'd argue.

"Matthew," Francis came out of the house wearing his cherry red apron, "Why don't you come inside. He is obviously not coming today."

Sighing, the university student stood up off the concrete stair he was sitting on and sluggishly dragged himself inside. As he closed the coffee brown door behind him he found himself wrapped up in questions regarding Alfred's whereabouts. The American had been so keen on seeing him again that Matthew couldn't help but wonder if something was wrong. Then it dawned on him…why should he care? He didn't even like Alfred; he thought the boy was annoying.

Matthew spent the rest of the day as he normally would. He checked all the hockey blogs on his favourites list to see if there were any trades taking place while recapping the previous night's playoff game between last year's Stanley Cup Champions the _Boston Bruins_ and the _Washington Capitals_. There were no games scheduled tonight but he'd be sure to catch tomorrow's game featuring the much disliked _Tampa Bay Lightning_ and his beloved _Montreal Canadiens_, or _Habs_ for short. He was certain this year _Les Canadiens_ would bring home the cup.

As the red glowing number on his digital clock sitting on his desk changed from 1:36 AM to 1:37 AM, Matthew stretched feeling the exhaustion of being awake for nearly seventeen hours. He climbed out of his chair and wrestled with the green hoodie he'd been wearing all day. Throwing the sweater into the light blue hamper near his closet he headed to the dresser beside his bed and pulled out a plain white t-shirt to sleep in. After pulling it on he dropped his baggy blue jeans and discarded them in the same hamper leaving only his white boxers.

Matthew returned to the desk to close down his laptop when a soft pelting noise hit his window. He stared at the glass wedged between the right wall and his dresser for a moment before brushing off the noise and returning his attention to his computer. After shutting down the device he pivoted and walked towards the bed – a comforting sight with its plush sky blue comforter and equally blue pillowcases. Before he could even reach the bed, a mere three paces away from the desk, another tapping sound came from the window. Not wanting to listen to it all night Matthew disregarded the bed and headed to the window.

The sight down below on the backyard grass astonished him. It was Alfred! The American was saying something to the now visible Matthew but the window was shut tight and blocking his voice. Matthew opened it to hear the young man more clearly.

"Matthew! Sorry about earlier!" Alfred tried to keep his voice to a whisper, but it was a loud and heavy one making his attempt futile.

"What happened?" Matthew called back in his naturally soft voice.

"Stuff came up." Matthew couldn't decide whether Alfred didn't know how to put it, the list was too long or if it was something private. Either way he found it unfair that Alfred could keep secrets but he had to be an open canvas.

"You didn't come just to apologize did you?" Matthew didn't want a repeat of yesterday, especially not as he was about to get some sleep.

"Kind of," Alfred grinned, "But I brought stuff too!"

Again with the 'stuff' Matthew groaned to himself, "Can't you come back tomorrow? I'm going to bed."

"I bought hockey cards…"

Matthew paused quietly for a moment. He had few weaknesses to his steadfast position but he also really, really, really loved hockey. He cursed himself for telling the American about his obsessive love for the winter sport. He knew he'd regret it in the morning after a night of little rest but his card collection would thank him. "Fine. I'll meet you at the backdoor."

Matthew tiptoed his way through the small court of bedrooms upstairs, carefully made his way down the creaky steps and glided on past the hall into the kitchen where the backdoor was. He unlocked the deadbolt lock and pulled back the white wooden door. Alfred was waiting for him on the other side – the hockey cards in hand.

"Well?" Alfred shuddered lightly, "You going to let me in? It's kind of cold out here."

Matthew rolled his eyes, "Maybe for you Mr. Golden State."

The American frowned, "I used to live in New York too, you know."

"Okay," Matthew said moving back to let Alfred in, "Mr. Golden Apple then."

Placing the cards on the table, Alfred turned to Matthew giving him a grin, "There's Florida too. We've got a mansion in Malibu."

The Canadian shrugged, "Fine. I'll just call you Mr. American Dream. Or I could call you Mr. 1%"

"I'd prefer the former, thanks." Alfred pulled back a wooden chair and sat on the red cushion on the seat.

"So really," Matthew closed the door and sat down beside Alfred at the circular kitchen table, "where were you?"

Alfred leaned back in his seat, "What? You're not going to offer me a drink?"

"Stop trying to change the subject." Matthew narrowed his eyes, "I'd like an answer please. After all…" a quick smirk was thrown in, "you owe me."

Alfred copied Matthew's sardonic grin feeling excitement from the out of character liveliness the Canadian was displaying. The added bonus was the bold reference to his own line from yesterday, "You really wanna know, huh?"

"Yeah," The soft blond nodded, "I do. You had me waiting all day when I could've been doing other things."

"Aw," The American smiled, "You waited all day for me."

"Alfred," The Canadian's tone was one lacking patience.

"Ok, ok, since you're insisting," the sharp blond folded his hands together on the table, "My old man and I got into a bit of an argument so I kind of just…took off to cool down."

Matthew's expression grew sympathetic, "You guys fought?"

"I guess you could put it that way," Alfred continued to stare at his thumbs as they wrestled with each other in a messy fidget.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh no," Alfred looked over to Matthew with a cheerful smile, "It happens all the time. Nothing new. The old man was just making more demands that I couldn't possibly meet. It's always like that. I'm just his _no good, troublemaking, can't read the mood, baseball before business_ kind of son. If it wasn't for my skill in technology – and the fact that I'm his only child – he probably would've kicked me out the day I turned eighteen."

Matthew stared disheartened at the dark wooden table under him. He couldn't believe the young man was still jovial despite his father's staunch disapproval of nearly his entire being. For the first time since the two met Matthew was finally starting to feel a slight connection to Alfred. Figuring it would be a nice parting gift he told the American what he had been asking about for days, "Cartier…"

Alfred stared at Matthew coolly as the he collected his words.

"Cartier is my mother's maiden name."

"That's rather obvious…I mean it DID say that on your birth certificate." Alfred blinked as if the whole thing wasn't a big deal anymore.

"If you already knew then why did you keep asking me about it?" Matthew glared.

"Because," Alfred nodded as though he were being thoughtful, "I wanted to hear it from you. So where is she?"

"She's dead."

* * *

Yup, so there we have it. It is Thursday after all.

Please R&R.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

A/N: This chapter is going to be LONG! …Well…longer than normal…

Next week's update will probably be midday Thursday or Friday. P'g is working night shifts so no midnight updating anymore. Aw...

((BTW, the "Hockey Night in Canada theme I'm refering to is the newer "Canada/Alberta Gold" one, not the classic version))

* * *

"Wait…dead?" Alfred's mouth gawked open, not expecting such a straightforward response.

"Yeah, she died a few years ago."

"Oh dude," the American grimaced, "that's sucks. I'm sorry."

Matthew shrugged, "Why should you be sorry…you didn't do anything."

"So what happened to her?"

The Canadian took in a deep breath of air and exhaled it taking a moment to think of where he should begin, "She overdosed."

"Whoa!" Alfred blinked, "Your mom was a druggie. Never imagined that."

"She wasn't a druggie, you idiot," Matthew snapped. He would have raged with furry but his lack of sleep was affecting his ability to do much of anything, "She was depressed."

"How come?"

"It's a long story." Matthew stared at the watch still on his arm.

"I've got some time," Alfred smiled, "or rather; I don't so you'd better hurry up and tell me. My dad and I are leaving in the morning to head back home."

"I'm way too exhausted," The blonde Canadian stood up from his seat and dragged himself to the back door which he opened, "Have a good flight home."

Alfred frowned at the sudden dismissal, he had been wanting to spend more time with Matthew before he left, "Well…okay…thanks. You can keep the cards. My parting gift!"

Matthew nodded and yawned as the American stood up and left the kitchen, exiting through the back door.

After watching Alfred make his departure off the property Matthew squeezed his shoulder blades together as he stretched his arms back. He then raised his arms over his head intertwining the fingers over his crown in another tight pull. Matthew closed the door and locked it turning his attention next to the fridge.

He dragged himself across the bluish green tiled floor and pulled open the door of the chrome refrigerator. The idea of a cold glass of milk sounded rather attractive as he pulled the milk container filled with a rectangular milk bag off the top shelf. A hole had already been made at the top corner of the milk bag away from the handle saving him time from having to open the plastic material. He grabbed a small red cup from the cupboard a few paces away from the fridge and carried it back to be filled half way with the smooth white liquid. In four quick gulps the milk was gone and Matthew returned the milk container to the fridge and disposed of the cup in the sink against the back wall. Turning on his heel he marched out of the kitchen, down the hall, up the stairs, into his room and tucked himself into bed.

Matthew was too tired to notice he was still wearing his socks when he drifted off to sleep. As he succumbed to slumber a vision began to play out in his subconscious with the same woman always appearing. He always dreaded the dreams of his mother, but he was too far gone to wake. The events of the past were haunting him once again.

)()()()()(

"Mathieu!" Francis called in an almost singsong kind of voice. He was standing nearly four metres away from his seven year old son who happily stalled for time to watch the little toy train run around a plastic black track. The Frenchman sighed, his breath visible in the crisp winter air. He was weighed down by six blue paper bags all filled with Christmas gifts for friends and family. Rotating slightly he walked back to the young boy who's bright eyes were entranced by the sight of all the active toys in the window. "Mathieu, we have to go. Your maman is waiting at home."

"But papa, I want to watch the train." A squeaky voice responded. Matthew pouted, his sparkly blue eyes peering into his father's. Matthew was, without doubt, the spitting image of his father, with strong sapphire eyes and silky, shoulder length blonde hair.

"Maybe next time, _mon amour_, but not today. Maman and I have to go to a party tonight." Francis tempted to hold out a hand for his son to grab but pulled back realizing his hands were occupied by the bags they carried.

Matthew frowned wanting to enjoy the hypnotic movement of the train some more. He stepped back from the window frame and turned to follow his father who had begun moving away from the store.

The two carried on down the road, around the corner, down the street, across a traffic light and into the parking lot where Francis unlocked his little black car. While the adult loaded the back of the automobile Matthew played with the piled up snow bank in front of the car.

"Okay Mathieu, let's go now _si vous plait_." Francis opened the back door behind the driver's seat for his Canadian born son to crawl in. Matthew climbed up into his seat and waited patiently for his dad to click his seatbelt into place.

"Papa?" Matthew asked as Francis tightened the belt.

"Oui?"

"Do you think Pere Noel will bring me the train for Christmas?" Matthew's eyes lit up at the thought of waking Christmas morning to a fancy new train set. He was certain he'd play with it for days, months, even years.

"Maybe." Francis patted the boy on his white toque, "If you're a good boy than Pere Noel will bring you lots of wonderful toys."

"Will he bring me the train?" Matthew asked after his father had shut his door and proceeded to sit in his own seat at the front.

"I don't know, Mathieu." Francis fidgeted with the keys. It was harder than it looked since he was wearing bulky gloves. That particular morning was colder than normal for a Montreal winter. Francis would have called the shopping trip off had the Christmas party he and his wife were scheduled to attend not been that night. That was what had brought him out to the city in the first place, to buy his dear friend, Bruce, a gift for the festive. Francis quickly glanced back at Matthew and thanked himself for bundling the youngster in a thick dull blue parka with matching snow pants, white mittens, a white scarf and his white toque along with a pair of black winter boots. He chuckled to himself quietly thinking that his wife would also thank him. Matthew was her greatest treasure and she made sure everyone knew.

The silver key easily slid into the ignition hole and Francis turned the metal device to start the vehicle. Clutching the clever he put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking space. Before he could exit the lot Francis had to stop at the entrance to pay the lot attendant the parking fee according to hour. The fee was $2.00/hr and he had been shopping for a lengthy three and a half. Passing the crumpled ten dollar bill to the overweight attendant Francis collected his three dollars and fifty cents change and departed from the lot as the red and white stripped bar was raised for him to pass.

The ride home took twenty minutes, more than usual, due to traffic congestion. With only four more shopping days left the streets were crowded with people and cars. After scrapping past the last light before it turned red, Francis turned down a side street just outside of the city. He stopped at a stop sign marked with the French "arête" before making a sharp right. Halfway down the street he made another right and pulled up to a quiet, suburban bungalow painted a dull yellow. Normally the olive green roof stood out but it was covered in thick, white snow. Francis smiled warmly seeing the different coloured lights on the Christmas tree dancing in the window.

Francis turned off the engine and got out of the car. He made sure to let Matthew out before getting the bags from the trunk. Popping open the back compartment he pulled out the six blue bags and shut the lid. He looked over to see Matthew crawling into the igloo he and the boy had made two days ago, "Mathieu! Not now. Let's go see maman!"

"Okay!" Matthew squeezed himself back out of the snow-ice den. His coat, mitts and snow pants were now drenched in snow. The young boy caught up with his father in time to race past him into the house using the side door.

The Frenchman followed behind waiting for his son to remove his snow boots and gallop up the four stairs to the kitchen. When Matthew was out of the way, Francis placed the six bags on the top stair and began removing his own winter attire. A shadow loomed over him catching his attention.

"So you bought Bruce a gift, right? And a few for Mathieu too, I hope." Francis looked up to be met by brilliant, shimmering light brown eyes. The woman's hair was a similar shade of brown and sparkled just as radiantly. It framed her pale, oval face. Her physique was small and feminine, her breasts were modest and her hips were small and tight. Her delicate look had been what had attracted Francis to her nearly a decade ago. She sported a lovely bright white sweater and a dark mahogany skirt hiked up just before the knees. Her thick white stockings kept her legs from being bare.

"Of course I did, my darling." Francis climbed the stairs. When he reached the top, instead of grabbing the bags, he mingled his fingers which her long and slender ones. Leaning in he gave her a peck on the lips before bending down to grab the blue paper bags.

Walking over to the white, rectangle kitchen table he placed the gifts on the surface and began prodding through what he had purchased.

"Is there anything for me in there?" The woman smiled brightly, eyes filled with excitement.

"Oui," Francis grinned crunching the top of the bag shut so his wife could not see inside, "But it is a secret. You will have to wait for Christmas morning."

His wife frowned but quickly found interest in something else, "Where's Mathieu?"

"Hmmm," The blonde Frenchman thought for a moment, "He came in before I did. Did you not see him?"

Shaking her head no the woman suggested that perhaps he had scampered off to his room, "I'll go check."

The kitchen had two frames leading farther into the house. One was close to the front door, which was hardly ever used, and the other was on the far side of the room adjacent to the fridge. The woman took the one farthest away from the front door and turned right, quickly walking down the short hallway to Matthew's room. She rotated left as she reached the end of the hall and knocked on the boy's door, "Mathieu? Are you in there?"

"Oui, Maman!" The cute, high pitched voice echoed back through the door.

"May I come in?"

"Okay."

The brunette opened the door to find her son sitting on his wooden bunk-bed with his dull blue snow pants and coat still on. She sighed, "Oh Mathieu. You're supposed to take that off when you enter the house."

Matthew enjoyed his mother's soothing voice. It was calm and soft like a gentle wave from the ocean. Her accent was detectable but wasn't so strong that one could not understand if she spoke either English or French. Her mother, Matthew's grandmother, had been raised in an Anglo household and so taught her children how to properly speak English.

Entering in, the woman crossed the floor to help her son take off his winter cloths. She carefully unzipped the coat and patiently waited as Matthew pulled his arms out of the sleeves. She then peeled off the snow suit straps that held the pants in place letting the boy kick the bottom half off.

"I will put this back in the closet. You go wash your hands and get ready for dinner."

"Okay Maman," Matthew slid off the bottom section of his bed leaving his disorganized hockey card collection splashed out across the bedding. He jolted out of the bedroom past her and across the hall to the bathroom, one room up from his parent's room which was directly across from his.

Passing the washroom, listening to her son hum as he swished his hands together under the running water, the petite woman re-entered the kitchen to move around her husband towards the front door and place the snow gear into the coat closet.

"Élise," Francis spoke to her as she made her back towards him, "have you confirmed with the babysitter yet?"

"Yes," She slid her arms under his, hugging his torso from behind. She placed her head softly against the back of his shoulder and remained motionless for a moment.

Francis turned, wrapping his arms around her tiny waist. He leaned in to kiss her but was interrupted by a bouncy child questioning what was for dinner.

Breaking away, Élise smiled at her son, "I made your favourite, poutine!"

"Hurray!" the little blonde boy threw his hands in the air enthusiastically. He pulled back a chair and climbed up into it as his mother placed a plate of steaming hot French fries covered in cheese and gravy before him. Matthew only had to wait a second to be handed a clean fork and a glass of milk. The seven year old wasted no time gobbling up the meal in front of him.

While Matthew ate, Francis wrapped his friend's gift in a nicely arrayed green and red box. The red and green tissue paper inside was set up decoratively, but still camouflaged the gift hiding inside. The red bow on top was large and stood out. Returning to the kitchen from his bedroom he showed his wife and son his fancy work and took in their praise.

After dinner Matthew scurried off to count his hockey cards and play pretend with the toy hockey figures he had. In the meantime his parents shuffled around the room across the hall preparing themselves for an evening of wining and dining. Élise put on her pearl earrings while Francis played with his cuffs. Within the hour they were finally read for their night out.

When the sitter arrived it was already dark outside and the street lights had been turned on. The young woman was a neighbour of Francis and Élise's from down the road who was studying commerce at McGill University in the city. The Bonnefoys were particularly fond of her because she was so good with Matthew, who loved her to pieces. The curly black haired student nodded as Francis gave her the number of the place he and his wife were going to and went over the usual details of Matthew's care and emergency contacts.

Élise called Matthew out to kiss him goodbye and put her winter coat and boots on, carrying the white dress shoes she intended to wear upon arrival in her hand. Francis patted the boy on the head reminding him to be good for his sitter while he and maman were away. Matthew and the neighbour, Chloe, waved in the front window of the house near the Christmas tree as the two parents pulled out of the parking lot. Matthew waved extra hard knowing he wouldn't see them until the next morning.

)()()()()(

Francis pulled up to the rented hall on the other side of town as the clock in the car turned 6:49 PM. He got out of the car as the valet opened the opposite door for his wife. Coming around to the side walk under the bright red canopy, Francis handed the young man the keys to his car before leading his wife to the venue.

The hall was already bustling with people as Francis and Élise made their way across the floor towards the right wall with all the food. Francis had not eaten all day and was starving and Élise, not recognizing anyone, decided to stick close to her husband.

As Francis piled his plate with exotic little entrees a voice captured his attention.

"Francis!" A strong Scottish voiced boomed behind the couple.

Francis turned around with a grin on his face, "Ah! Bruce!"

"Glad you could make it," The red haired Scotsman reached out his arm to give the Frenchman a firm handshake.

"Yes," Francis grabbed the hand dressed with a large gold watch and shook it, "Thank you for inviting us."

"Ah yes," Bruce turned to face Élise, "it's very nice to see you again."

The Frenchwoman smiled, her lips coloured a dark red from her lipstick shade, "Hello Bruce. How are your brothers?"

"They're good – oh you mean the Irish ones." It suddenly occurred to Bruce that he hadn't introduced Francis and his wife to his two youngest brothers. They had been living abroad in Great Britain and were visiting Canada for the first time. "I don't think I need to tell you how the twins are, it should be rather obvious. Working hard throughout the day; partying hard throughout the night."

Francis chuckled. Despite their rowdy behaviour he got along well with Bruce's younger brothers. It didn't even bother Francis that one of the brother's gave up the Catholic faith in favour of Protestantism.

Bruce's family was a strange arrangement. Growing up his father was in the military so the family often moved around from region to region within Great Britain. Bruce was born in Scotland but all of his other brothers were born in different areas of the country. The twins, Daniel and Patrick, were born in Ireland while Owen was born in Cardiff, Wales. The youngest, whom Francis had yet to hear of, much less meet, was supposed to have been born in London, England. Bruce and his youngest brother had had a falling out a few years ago and only recently had they reconnected. Francis attributed this to the reason as to why he hadn't heard about the "baby" of the family.

"My other two brothers flew in for the holidays." Bruce's voice picked up from where it had left off.

"Oh," Francis looked up from his plate, he was momentarily mulling over whether he had gotten too much food, "I don't suppose you plan on introducing us then, do you?"

"Sure, if you don't mind hanging out with a shy kid and a sarcastic prick."

The Frenchman laughed heartily, "Sounds like fun."

"Hey!" Bruce turned and began waving wildly at a group across the room, "Owen! Arthur! Come over here!"

In a moment two figures were moving towards the party of three. One was gliding rather elegantly and carefree while the other looked around him as he crossed the floor seeming agitated. They were both blond, though the happier of the two's shade was much lighter, a sandy blonde. He was wearing a brown jacket with matching brown slacks and a plain white shirt with a red tie. The other young man was dressed in a green suit with a white button up shirt and green tie. Had his hair not been so tangled and messy it would've shone like the sun. Both had solid emerald eyes.

"Francis, I'd like you to meet my brothers," Bruce nodded at each one as he spoke their names, "Owen and Arthur."

The Frenchman smiled at the two men whom he suspected were also his juniors, "Bonjour. I am Francis Bonnefoy. It is nice to meet you. And this is my lovely wife, Élise."

"Hello." Élise smiled as she was introduced.

"Yes, hello!" The lighter blonde spoke first, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Owen and this is my younger brother, Arthur."

Arthur quickly looked over Francis before returning his irritated gaze somewhere else.

"Arthur," Owen quietly nudged the young man, "Don't be rude. Say hello."

The Englishman rolled his dull green eyes and stared straight at his guests, "Yes, good evening, I'd say I'm interested in this party but I'd be lying."

Francis ignored Owen's pleas of forgiveness and attempted to jibe back at the younger of the two, "I'm sorry, were you expecting Doctor Who to show up?"

Arthur, who had turned his attention away not expecting any sort of comeback, quickly fixed his eyes back on the Frenchman, surprised at the retaliation. He suddenly smirked, "A sharp tongue does not mean you have a keen mind."

Francis laughed, "What's wrong? Don't you get any attention back home? I bet you get bullied a lot."

The Englishman blushed and growled, "No sir, I do not."

Owen, the Welsh brother, was in a near panic, "Uh…maybe…we should exchange gifts now and whatnot."

Ah! The gift! Francis had forgotten his in the car when he left the valet to park it. Turning to his wife he said, "Je m'excuse, mon Cherie, I left the gift in the car and must retrieve it."

"Oh," Élise was sipping a glass of yellow tinted white wine. She handed it to her husband, "I will go get it for you. You enjoy the company of your new friends."

Francis smiled softly as his partner guided her way past Arthur and Owen and disappeared into the crowd. He was going to argue with her to stay and let him go but he could see by her body language the party was of little interest to her – most people there were friends of Bruce's and both her and Francis only knew a select few acquaintances. Turning to Bruce he continued his look of calm satisfaction, "She'll be back soon, I'm sure."

Élise exited the banquet doors to the frostbitten air of the night. Not knowing how far back the car was she had decided to grab her faux fur coat from the front desk. She was glad she brought it as a chilly wind brushed against her. She wished she had changed into her boots too. The parking lot was plowed making the walk easy, but the below freezing temperature could be felt on her feet. The valet had offered to bring the car around but she didn't see the need for it since he would have to park it again. She found the black car parked directly under one of the lamp posts in the back row in front of a chainmail fence separating the lot from the neighbour's backyard. The bright light bounced off the car making it look shiny.

When she reached the car she used the key the valet had given her to open the back door. There she found the green and red box with the giant bow. She pulled it out wondering what on earth Francis had bought for his friend. Élise had been so busy attending to Matthew and getting ready for the party that she forgot to ask. She placed the box on the trunk and closed the back door, locking the vehicle. Picking up the box again she made her way back to the front doors of the reception hall. Along the way a variety of different license plates were noticed. There were a few from Maine and one from New York. There were also several Nova Scotia and Ontario plates. One couple had come from as far as Virginia.

As Élise stepped up on the cement platform leading to the front doors she handed her keys to the valet who held the door open for her. She thanked him and made a b-line for the double doors that led to the giant room she left her husband in. Before she could re-enter the party room she was called back into the lobby.

"Don't forget your coat ma'am!" One of the women attending the reception desk motioned to her.

"Oh, yes," Élise turned back. She walked to the desk and placed the gift on the granite counter so she could take her winter covering off.

The lobby was a majestic sight. There were two reception desks; one for checking in and the other for leaving your coat to be hung. The coat desk was situated six steps to the right of the entry doors. It had a bright granite top and dark, nearly black, wood running down to the base. The floors were white marble and dressed with two medium sized Turkish carpets and three tier crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Beside the check-in reception desk across the hall was a dark red and gold couch, short enough for two, maybe three if they squeezed together. Nearly every corner of the long room had a tree plant in it. The wall farthest away from entry doors sported a large mirror and the other side of the room was where the bathrooms were.

Handing the coat to the young woman, presumably in her late twenties or early thirties, Élise picked up the gift box and turned to head back to the party. Before she could take three full steps another voice perked up.

"Oh Mrs. Bonnefoy," An old lady with short grey hair waved, "Is that you, dear?"

"Hello Mrs. Cunningham," Élise smiled politely at Matthew's former preschool teacher. She wondered what the connection between the elderly woman and Bruce was. She also wondered if she'd ever be able to get back into the party room again.

"How is Mathieu?" The old woman in a long purple gown asked. Her white pearl earrings were nearly identical to Élise's.

"He's doing very well. Thank you."

"Oh goodness," The woman sighed, "He must be big now. How old is he? Six? Seven?"

"He's seven," the petite Frenchwoman responded in a rushed, but still polite tone.

"Oh good." The plump woman in her early sixties nodded, "Is he in an English school or French?"

"He's going to a Catholic school."

"So French," The woman concluded.

"Yes," Élise admitted, "but he does English school on the weekends. Just Saturday afternoons."

The woman nodded as she listened, "Well good for him. Being bilingual will go a long way in this country. My…he could even by Prime Minister one day."

"My Mathieu? Prime Minister? As friendly and talkative as he can be he's far too sweet and honest to be a politician." The younger woman laughed.

"Well, you never know." The woman took a step back, hinting her departure, "They're all sweet when they're small, but then they grow up… Anyway, I must be going. I came out here to use the washroom. Hopefully I'll see you back inside."

"Yes," Élise smiled enthusiastically, grateful to finally be getting a move on, "you too."

Being careful not to trip on her long yellow dress – it was difficult to see with a large box in front of her – Élise made her way back into the gathering room. The crowd looked just as bloated as it had the first time she saw it. Glancing around she looked for any sign of her husband. Unfortunately there were a lot of blondes in the room making it difficult for her to decipher where exactly Francis was.

"Oh, Élise." The brunette femme cocked her head to see one of Bruce's younger brothers – Patrick, if she recalled correctly, approaching her. It was never easy to tell the twins apart. Élise assumed they liked it that way since they were, at heart, practical jokers and the swap gag was their favourite. Élise, however, had an eye for detail and noticed Patrick's face was more "babyish" than his brother Daniel's.

"Patrick, right?"

"Aye! That's me madam." The black-haired man grinned. He looked down at the present, his green eyes fluttering with excitement. Élise saw the joke coming before he even said it, "Oh, a present! Is that for me? You shouldn't have."

Patrick mockingly reached out to grab the gift but Élise, just as humorously, pulled back, "Nah-ahn. Not for you. Francis bought it for your brother. Speaking of which, have you seen him?"

"Who? Bruce?"

"No, Francis."

"Oh, him!" Patrick placed a pale hand on his chin to think, "Yeah, I did. He should be over in the far corner there. I saw him talking to a group of people. Showin' off as always."

"Of course he would be," Élise sighed, "he's probably dazzling everyone with his wine knowledge."

Giving her witty comment a short and low chuckle, Patrick offered to take the gift and place it on the table with the others. Élise had no quarrel handing the gift over. Patrick and his twin brother may be jokesters but they were no thieves. They were hard working men who liked to have fun. Élise admired their work ethic and wished Francis was more serious about his job as a chef at one of Montreal's most famous restaurants, La Belle Province. The Frenchman was certainly devoted to cooking but disliked taking orders from the master chef, a man whose culinary vision he did not agree with.

Heading back into the crowd once again Élise kept her eyes peeled for any sight of her husband. She waded over to the far corner left corner of the room where Patrick had said he saw the man. As she moved towards the head of the room the music grew loader. She could see the black tower speakers set up near the stage at the front. Finally she spotted him. Wearing his dark blue tux holding a red rose he was, as she suspected, dazzling his personal audience. Élise frowned momentarily watching the girls around him giggle with delight. If there was one thing she disliked about her husband it was his obsession with flirting. She watched, slightly heartbroken, as Francis handed the deep red rose to one of his listeners. Getting a good look at the person Élise raised an eyebrow.

Arthur?

)()()()()(

_Doooo, do-do….dooooo do, doooooo do-do….doooooo do…_

Matthew rubbed his eyes as the _Hockey Night In Canada_ ringtone sounded from his blackberry. Rolling over onto his side he grabbed the device and answered it in a groggy morning voice.

"Hello?"

"Matthew! You're up!" An upbeat tone responded, "Great! I wanted to ask you something!"

"Alfred?" Matthew was now wide awake. He quickly glanced at his clock. It was 7:48 am, "How the hell did you get my cell number?"

"Oh, well, you see…" Alfred started. He explained that two nights ago during the dinner Matthew had left his blackberry on the table when he excused himself to use the washroom, "I kind of took the opportunity to record your number."

Matthew could not believe what he was hearing. This American was a diehard stalker, "Are you serious?"

"I didn't think things would go the way they did so I figured we'd become friends and you'd give it to me and that you'd never know." Alfred rambled on as if he were somehow justified in his choice.

"Alfred," Matthew lowered his voice in a serious manner, "I'm going to hang up and you're going to delete my number and never talk to me –"

"Before you finish that thought," The American interrupted, "I was thinking really hard last night and…I felt kind of bad for you. You're kind of like me-"

"You assume too much." It was Matthew's turn to butt in.

"No, listen." Alfred argued, "If anything I'm always careful and suspicious of people, but there's something about you that I like. It's not that we look alike. I dunno. Maybe I like you because you're one of the few people to have the balls to tell me what's what."

"Oh that's right," Matthew sighed, "You're a rich kid. You don't know what it's like to be told no."

"Not quite," Alfred corrected him, "My dad, remember?"

It didn't take long for Matthew to recollect what he had been told last night. He did honestly feel bad for Alfred's strained relationship with his father. Sometimes he found it hard to get along with his own biological dad. After everything Francis did to him. …To his mom…

"So I was thinking," Alfred continued through the receiver, "I'm going to just take off."

"What do you mean?" Matthew was rather curious to this bit.

"I mean, I'm going to travel the world. Get away from it all. Get away from my old man."

"But," Matthew propped himself up on his elbow, "do you have any money or…won't your dad be mad?"

"You kidding me? My dad will be pissed as hell!" Alfred chuckled, "And I do have money. I told you, I play cards."

Matthew had nearly forgotten. Alfred had mentioned he had his own "cash stash" when the two first met. He ran through the scene of walking home in his mind. Poker, Stocks and…helping his dad. Yeah. "How much do you have?"

Alfred hummed thoughtfully as he calculated how much money he had in his mind, "I'd say…close to seven or eight million."

Matthew's eyes nearly popped out of his head, "Seven to eight million!?"

"I told you dude. My poker skills…they're kick ass."

Getting back on track Matthew asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because," Alfred's voice suddenly lowered. He was both serious and sympathetic, "I wanted to ask if you'd like to come with me."

The Canadian was speechless. Some kid – who, in his opinion was kind of a stalker, was asking him to go on a world travelling experience. What stunned him even more were the butterflies in his stomach urging him to go. Matthew pondered it for a moment. A peaceful, normal life here with his dad and step dad, playing lacrosse and hockey and going to school OR a wild world adventure with some guy he met six days ago.

Not one to be totally pessimistic Alfred took Matthew's silence as a sign that the blonde was actually considering it, "The plane leaves Trudeau International at 1:15pm."

"Where are you heading?" Was all Matthew could think to ask.

"Wherever I can get tickets for." Alfred responded, "If you're there, you're there and if you're not…I'm taking off. I'll never bother you again."

Matthew pressed the End Call button after Alfred hung up. He glanced at his clock. 7:57am. It took close to two hours to get to the airport, plus he'd need time to find Alfred, and they'd have to wait for AT LEAST a half hour before taking off – to buy tickets and all, plus packing and getting up and dressed…factoring everything he figured he had…twenty five minutes to decide whether or not he wanted to go. The clock was ticking.

* * *

(I told you it was long, Please R&R)

End Note:

Translations:  
-Maman is French for "mommy"  
-mon amour is French for "my love"  
-si vous plait is French for "please"  
-Poutine: It's French fries covered with cheese curds topped with gravy. It's a prominent dish in Canada.  
-Je m'excuse mon Cherie – Excuse/Pardon me, my dear.  
-La Belle Province – an ode to the Province of Quebec's "nickname".

Behind the names:  
-Bruce (Scotland): Named after Robert the Bruce (think _Braveheart_ – though the movie was slightly inaccurate).  
-Daniel (North Ireland): After Daniel Dixon, the first Lord Mayor of Belfast (1892).  
-Patrick (Republic Ireland): Pretty obvious – it's St. Patrick.  
-Owen (Wales): A reference to Owain Gwynedd who is considered one of the most successful Welsh princes in Welsh history (prior to being taken over by England).


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A/N: Ooh, the suspense. Thanks for waiting. Just a forewarning but sometimes I'll use the spelling "Canadien". It's simply the French spelling for _Canadian_ and often refers to the French Canadians.

FrUk28: I wrote this chapter LONG before you went on holiday, I swear!

* * *

Alfred glanced at the clock across the terminal. In his hands were two tickets to the only place which had a flight leaving at 1:15pm. The capitalized text on the front read Madrid, Spain. When he bought the tickets he stormed up an exciting conversation with the clerk about seeing the running of the bulls and that festival where everyone throws tomatoes at each other. But now, as he sat and waited in silence, the only thing his mind could think of was Matthew. Would he show?

Pulling out his iPhone he tempted to turn the device on and give the Canadian a call, but he knew the moment he did he'd see hundreds of text messages and missed calls from his father. When he dared to call Matthew earlier in the day he had already received more than two dozen since his disappearance that morning. Alfred left with no other warning than a note reading: Gone travelling, be back when ready.

The American sighed when the boarding announcement was made. Everyone in first class was asked to grab their belongings and make their way to the terminal gate to take their seats on the plane. Alfred looked at the clock again. It was only 1:03pm. He placed the tube of sour cream and onion Pringles he had been munching on in his carry-on and stood up to look around. On a whim he decided to sit down again feeling it was best to wait another five minutes. The plane wouldn't be leaving until exactly a quarter after one anyway. He still had time.

Alfred fidgeted with his fingers as the time winded down. Finally the last call was made. All remaining passengers needed to board the plane. Time was up.

Making his way to the terminal gate Alfred handed the curly haired woman his ticket. She ripped the bottom stub and wished him a safe trip. Alfred put on a fake smile, but his face still showed his disappointment. As he began walking the ramp a voice shouted out…

"Alfred!"

The American stopped in his tracks. That voice was all too familiar. He was frozen in place as he turned around. There, standing at the gate, was the one person he had been waiting on for several hours.

"Matthew?" Alfred blinked. His shock that the Canadian had actually come overpowered his excitement.

Matthew nodded, "Yeah, sorry I took so long. I couldn't decide and then there was traffic, and I didn't know where you were, and I had to find out which flight you chose and-"

"Ticket, sir." The stewardess interrupted.

"Oh…" Matthew paused. He glanced at Alfred for help.

Grinning, the American walked back to Matthew and reached into his pocket, pulling out the spare ticket. He passed it to the blonde to give to the flight attendant.

While the curly haired woman was ripping the stub Alfred asked Matthew about his luggage.

Matthew stared at his duffle bag, sporting the Team Canada logo and then to Alfred, "This is it. I didn't have time to pack anything else. It was literally a last minute decision."

Alfred shrugged, "Well that's ok. We can just buy you some cloths when we get there."

"To Spain?"

Alfred nodded with a grin.

Travelling down the corridor Alfred turned to Matthew, "So…what made you decide to come?"

Matthew paused and remained silent for a moment. When he spoke he was quiet and gloomy, "They were fighting again. I just got sick of listening to it and wanted to get as far away as possible from them."

Alfred looked sympathetic, "I see."

The two found their seats in the first class cabin. Their chairs were grey and plush and the back of each seat contained a personal television. Alfred insisted he get the window seat because he had been the one to purchase the tickets. Matthew didn't argue being grateful to have been given an opportunity to escape.

"So," Alfred struck up a conversation after placing his black backpack under his seat, "What about your lacrosse team?"

"Oh shoot," Matthew muttered, "I forgot to tell them. I'm sure they'll figure it out soon though. We have a practice today and when I don't show they'll ask my dad where I am. Maybe then those two will see I was serious about leaving."

"Kind of sucks for your team though."

"Yeah but," Matthew reasoned, "At least Nathan will finally get to be a regular on the team. I know he'll be thrilled about that. He really does deserve it."

Alfred laughed, "You're such a nice guy, Mattie."

Matthew looked at Alfred with a surprised expression. The only people who had ever called him by that name were his Anglo grandmother, his mom and his Uncle Bruce. The look on Alfred's face showed he thought nothing of it. Matthew would have addressed the issue had the stewardess, this time a young woman with cropped black hair and a blue hat, not cut in asking if he would like to buy a set of headphones.

"Yeah," Alfred answered for them both, "We'll take two sets please."

Looking to Matthew he added, "I don't know about you, but I like listening to the music channels. Oh and there's supposed to be a baseball game on later. I'd like to catch that. Big New York Yankees fan."

Matthew smiled courteously, "I'm not a big baseball fan at all. I would watch it when I was little, but I grew out of it."

"Really?" Alfred looked at him curiously, "Do you play or watch any sports other than lacrosse?"

"I figured you'd already know what the answer to that question is, considering you're a snoop." Matthew jibbed.

"Ouch," Alfred winced, "Mattie, you wound me. I only looked up the basics."

"Well fine then," Matthew laid back into his seat, "I'm a huge hockey fan; have been since I was born. An ancestor of my mom's used to play for the Quebec Bulldogs…before they moved to Hamilton."

"Oh neat…not sure what that means but…"

"It's the National Hockey Association…the predecessor of the NHL. Back in the day teams would challenge for the cup instead of the current set up. The best amateur team in the country would be challenged by another team on the condition that the challenging team was the top crop of their own league. Two teams from the same league could not challenge each other for the cup. Any team that wished to challenge had to send in a request form." Matthew crossed his arms recounting the history of his favourite sport. It wasn't hard as he had grown up determined to know every nook and cranny of the game.

Alfred just nodded, "interesting."

Matthew opened his mouth to continue his history lesson when a voice came over the P.A. system, "Good afternoon passengers, this is your captain speaking. In just a moment we will begin take off to Madrid, Spain where the weather has been nice all week and is expected to continue that way. The charted map has us steering clear of any storms but turbulence is always possible, especially when flying at high altitudes. In a moment Sara, our stewardess, will be giving a quick lesson on what to do in case of an emergency. On behalf of the staff have a great flight and thank you for choosing Canada Airlines."

Matthew and Alfred turned their attention to the blonde haired stewardess. The visible brown eyebrows on her face made it clear her hair had been dyed. She grabbed the microphone and proceeded to give instructions over the P.A. system. A video played in the background while she spoke. A variety of scenarios played out, each with a different ending. There was one with passengers putting on masks that would fall from an overhead compartment and another with the plane landing either on the ground or water in which the passengers would slide on a yellow blow-up slide from the plane door. Alfred jokingly wished the plane would semi-crash so he could slide down.

"Not until we get to Spain." Matthew added. He pulled out a glossy pamphlet from the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him. It was located directly below the fold up table, which in turn was directly underneath the personal television.

"That's fair." Alfred agreed. As the lecture ended he looked at Matthew, "Do you wanna play a card game or something?"

"Nah," Matthew shook his head, "I'm kind of tired. You left just after 2 in the morning and woke me up close to 8. I had less than six hours of sleep. It will take us over six hours to get to Spain and once we do it'll probably be late at night."

"Hmmm," Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out his ticket, "Says here the arrival time is approximately 1:20am."

"All the more reason to get some sleep." Matthew wiggled in his chair to get comfortable. As he drifted to sleep he could've sworn he saw Alfred smile lovingly at him.

)()()()()(

It had been early two months since the Christmas party and Élise was in the kitchen preparing for yet another holiday – Valentine's Day. The previous year Francis had made her a red velvet cupcake so she was determined to outdo him and make a fancy cake. She took the lemon batter mix and poured it into the heart shaped cake pan, scraping whatever hugged the bowl into her spoon and plopping it in with the rest of the mix. The willpower she had to impress her husband was strong.

Her marriage to Francis wasn't always rock solid but over the last month and a half things seemed hit a new low. There were nights when he would have "extended work hours" at the restaurant even though it was past closing hour. There were days when he would leave early in the morning and not return until the dusk of night. Then, one weekend, he claimed he had a friend in Quebec City whom he needed to see urgently and simply took off. It wasn't uncommon for Francis to take off, but his stories were too unbelievable. It left Élise wondering what could possibly be going on. Some suggested he was planning a surprise but she knew better than that. Francis was never good at arranging big surprises.

The Frenchman had decided to take today off of work, yet he wasn't around. He told his wife he'd be home in time for dinner but that he had a lot of running around to do. "It's for you_, mon cherie_." he would argue.

Grudgingly she tossed the pan into the stove to bake at 350 degrees. She crossed her arms thinking that whatever he was doing today, it had better be for her and had better be good. She could not afford to be broken again…

"Maman," Matthew cheerfully made his way into the kitchen, "can I have the spoon now?"

Élise frowned, staring at the half wet spoon in the chrome sink. She had forgotten that she promised her son he could lick it when she was finished, "Je suis désolé, Mathieu. I forgot."

The blonde boy grew teary eyed. He'd been waiting a several hours for the delicious gooey mix. His mother had promised it to him that morning when she told him her baking plan.

"Tell you what," Smiling, his mother had a bright idea, "I'll let you help me put the icing on it and I'll give you an extra big piece after it's been cut tonight. Deal?"

Matthew's blue, wet eyes lit up and sparkled, "Yeah!"

Élise watched her son happily exit the kitchen. She could hear him make his way back to his room down the hall with a bounce in his step. She was glad to know she had pleased him. Even if Francis was off dicking around her son would always be loving and loyal to her.

After nearly an hour of baking the cake was finished. Élise put down the book she had been reading in the living room, an American thriller regarding politics, and made her way back to the kitchen on the other side of the wall. Putting on her oven mitts covered in a flower pattern she opened the oven door and grabbed a hold of the cake pan. Pulling the cake out she used her knee to shut the door of the stove and placed the cake on the counter.

She decided that while the cake was cooling she would mix the buttercream icing. She pulled the necessary ingredients out of the fridge and cupboard – butter, milk, icing sugar, vanilla extract…uh oh.

Élise frowned. She was all out of vanilla extract. She would have to run out to the grocery store and grab another small bottle. At least the cake would be ready to ice when she got home. Realizing she would have to take Matthew with her she hurried to his room and informed him they would have to go out.

Rushing to get out the door the French Canadien woman nearly forgot to place a warm hat on her son. Despite the laps in time it was still winter and still freezing cold. January had brought almost twice as much snow as December had. After Matthew was appropriately dressed Élise reached for the keys to her car – a long brown station wagon, and raced out the door.

Matthew was buckled in tightly in the back seat despite his protesting to sit in the front. He was more than confident that he was big enough and would be safe. His often overprotective mother was not as assured and forced him to sit in the back. The thought of being in an accident and her son suffocating under the airbag was horrifying. Pulling out of the driveway onto the street she turned the steering wheel to the left and took off down the street being sure to drive slowly in case of black ice. Reaching the stop sign she put her right ticker on and cautious turned the corner. As she made the complete turn she drove away not noticing the car making its way onto her street from the other end of the road.

The black car drove halfway up the street before turning right into the driveway of the yellow bungalow home. The house's second vehicle was missing. Turning the engine off the driver unbuckled himself and invited his guest inside.

"I'm rather surprised my wife isn't here." Francis shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them warm.

"Yes…how convenient," his British companion seemed less than enthusiastic.

Francis had spent the entire day with Arthur. Since their introduction at Bruce's Christmas party Francis had found himself strangely attracted to the Englishman. He loved the man's scruffy blonde hair, his emerald eyes, his offending sarcasm…everything but his terrible taste in food. That wasn't much of a problem however, as Francis was a master chef. Over the past seven weeks he cooked several meals for the Brit. He found Arthur's attitude towards it rather amusing. At first the Brit was annoyed and stressed that he didn't need Francis to prepare food for him but after having Francis's specialty, lamb, he was greatly astonished by the Frenchman's ability to cook.

Two the men travelled up the asphalt driveway and entered the home after Francis unlocked the side door. Rushing inside to escape the cold they huddled in place for a moment before taking off their winter gear. Francis carefully hung his coat in the closet by the front door after climbing the four steps to the kitchen and making a solid left turn down into the half-cavity. Arthur was more careless tossing his coat behind one of the kitchen table chairs.

Taking in a whiff of a delicious odour, Arthur turned his head to the counter, "I wonder if someone was expecting us."

"Oh?" Francis re-entered the kitchen, "Why do you say that?"

"There's a cake on the counter," Arthur pointed directly at the heart-shaped slap of lemon cake.

The Frenchman examined it for a moment before turning to his companion with a sly grin, "Would you like some?"

The Brit was cautious, "No, I don't think so."

Francis sighed and conceded, "You're probably right. My wife obviously made it."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Oh quite the contrary. It appears someone has broken into your house and baked you a scrumptious cake."

The Parisian grinned again, only less cunning, "Do you always have something crafty to say?"

It was Arthur's turn to grin. He beamed proudly, "Why yes, I believe I do."

"Well," Francis shrugged, "Sometimes I find it rather irritating."

"Oh do you?" The Englishman raised a brow, "And just what do you plan on doing to stop me?"

"For starters," Francis crept closer to the scruffy blonde. He inched his face towards the other man's, stopping short of being nose to nose, "I can do this."

Before Arthur could protest over his space being invaded Francis swallowed him in a passionate kiss, blind sighting the Brit.

Arthur broke away, managing to escape Francis's grasp to put a few steps between them, "Are you bloody mad!? We're in your house!"

"And your point is…"

"My point is…" Arthur raised his voice aggressively, "this is the house you share with your _wife_. The wife you go to bed with every night."

Francis took the opportunity to jest, "Does me being married bother you? I would think not…it certainly did not stop you from letting me make love to you at the hotel."

Arthur crossed his arms and turned away, his face flushed red with embarrassment, "You did not _make love_ to me, you took advantage of me."

The Frenchman shrugged, "Well you certainly did not have any arguments."

The Brit swirled back around, "Yes I did!"

"Not for long," Francis cooed scooting over to his male lover. As he wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist he took pleasure in watching the Brit's face turn a brighter red as he glanced away. The Frenchman raised his lips to his companion's ear and softly whispered, "She won't be back for a while."

"Y-you don't know that," Arthur looked at the white marble coloured tiles, "This is incredibly dangerous."

Francis pulled his head back momentarily, "What? Are you afraid? And here I thought you were a bold man. So me being married does concern you…"

"That's not it!" Arthur barked staring Francis straight in the eye, "If I did I never would have allowed you to –"

"Ah ha!" Francis kissed the man on the cheek, "You try to play innocent, but I know better than that."

Francis began a streamline of kisses from the cheek, to the earlobe, down to the nape of the neck. He ran a hand up Arthur's skin hidden behind his white dress shirt and green sweater vest. His skin was silky smooth and warm. The body temperature of both men continued to climb as Francis moved from kissing loose skin to enveloping his lover's mouth. They kissed with enthusiasm before Arthur broke away again.

"Are you sure she'll be gone for a while?"

"Oui." Francis gave confident smile.

Élise turned the corner thankful the grocery store was not full of people. Should could only assume that women and their partners were out for dinner or enjoying each other's company at home…like she and her husband should be doing. Driving up her street she noticed a black car in the drive way.

"Looks like Papa's home," The French Canadien brunette said to her son, catching a quick glimpse of him looking at his new hockey cards she bought for him at the store. She pulled into the driveway with a smile. She was disappointed that her husband would have seen the cake unfinished but grateful that he was finally home.

Élise put the brown station wagon in park to the right of the black car. She turned the key cutting the engine. By the time she got out and opened Matthew's door, the back one on the opposite side, he had already taken his seatbelt off and was ready to get inside and help make the icing. She shut the door and followed her speedy son to the side door of the house.

Opening the screen door first, then the wooden door behind Matthew dashed in the house and took off his boots. His mother entered as he was taking off his mitts.

After taking off her winter outerwear Élise marched up the four tiled steps to the kitchen. It looked untouched; her lemon cake was still sitting on the counter where she had left it. She opened the fridge at the far side of the room. Nothing was displaced. She frowned wondering what Francis had done when he got home. Normally he would make himself something to eat if there wasn't already something prepared. At the very least he would've gotten himself something to drink.

"Ah."

Élise snapped her head up at the noise. It sounded like a cross between someone being in pain and someone relieving themself. Even more alarming the sound had come from her bedroom. The voice sounded a bit too sharp to be Francis's but she hoped it was him anyway. After all, who else would be in the house? It had to be him; his car was in the driveway.

Walking down the hall the browned-eyed brunette kept her eyes focused on the closed door to her bedroom. Matthew was following behind her still looking at his cards. He read the name of each player quietly to himself.

Placing a hand on the doorknob Élise held her breath for a moment before turning the knob rapidly and pushing open the door. The scene before her was horrifying.

A black satin shirt was on the ground accompanied by a white dress shirt and a green sweater vest. On the bed rested two men – one, a new acquaintance, the other, her husband. Francis was knelt over the scruffy blond who was on his elbows keeping his back slightly elevated against the bed. The Frenchman's knees were hugging the man's waist as he had been preparing to lean into him.

Élise stared at the two and they stared back. All three looked like a bunch of deer caught in the headlights as they froze in sight of each other. The only one not frozen was Matthew who stood in plain sight beside his mother as he continued to silently read the information on the back of his hockey cards.

Not wanting to watch her husband commit adultery with a man, Élise quickly fled the scene, sprinting towards the kitchen to fetch her winter coat and car keys. Francis had charmed women in the past. He had even had a short affair with one which resulted in him and Élise going through nearly nine months of marriage counselling. But a man? This was a new low. As staunch Catholics homosexuality was strictly forbidden and for Francis to engage in even the slightest degree of it was a shame against her, himself and their religion. Élise did not hate homosexuals. She even applauded the government's decision to decriminalize it back in the 1970s. What bothered her was that it was now directly affecting her personal life. It was invading her family, her marriage. _He_ was invading her family and her marriage. The emerald eyed young man…Bruce's little brother. Arthur.

Francis bolted out of the room chasing after his wife. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her since any explanation – if he could even find one – wouldn't help his cause at this point. He was in such a rush that he missed the young blonde boy whose attention was now grabbed by all the dramatic movement.

Matthew watched his father race past him as he called for his wife to calm down. The Canadien boy blinked not sure what to make of the situation. He turned back to the bedroom where heat was pouring out and stared at the messy blonde without a shirt. The blonde stared back. Looking at his face, Matthew couldn't tell if the man was scared, curious or angry. The shouting in the kitchen drew his attention back.

"How dare you do this to me!" Élise screamed at Francis.

"What?" Francis said back to her. He was loud but calm, "What do you want me to do? Apologize?"

"Apologize for getting caught?" She snapped at him, "Did you not learn from the first time? Did you?"

Élise did not bother to wait for an answer. It doesn't seem to have mattered since Francis could not give her one. With Matthew's coat, hat and mittens in hand she travelled down the hallway and grabbed her son's arm, "C'mon Mathieu, we're leaving."

"But Maman," Matthew complained, "Your cake…"

"Maman will make you a special cake later." The Brunette coaxed her young boy into putting his winter gear on.

Matthew looked up at his mother with sad eyes, "Papa's in trouble, isn't he?"

"Yes." She responded, "Papa is in a lot of trouble."

"You'd better not be telling him lies about me, Élise" Francis reappeared in the hallway.

"Get out of my way," Élise brushed past him, towing Matthew along, hand-in-hand.

She navigated her son to the stairs and dragged him down them. Handing him his boots she directed him to put them on while she pulled on her own.

"I expect I will be hearing from you soon." Francis said, making more of an inquiry out of it than a statement.

"You will be hearing from my lawyer soon," Elise told him, tying her laces. She looked up at him when she finished, "I will not do this anymore. This is over."

Matthew may have been young and innocent, but he was not stupid. He knew what this meant. A divorce. He had been very little the last time his parents had fought over his father's infidelities and he was slowly starting to believe everything would be normal. The discovery of a new lover shattered that image of a perfect family, or what was growing to become a perfect family. Matthew was devastated.

Élise opened the wooden door and pushed past the screen one, holding it to let Matthew out. She let it go letting it fall back into place, snapping shut as it came in contact with the wedge that locked it into the frame.

Matthew turned around to give his father one last look. The forlorn stare was not returned. Francis looked away too embarrassed to face his son's innocent eyes. For Élise to see him like this was one thing, but Matthew? He was just a little boy. He didn't deserve to be tossed around in all this chaos.

Coming at his mother's call Matthew shuffled quickly to her side and prepared to depart the premises. He wondered in that moment if he would ever see any of this again. His house, his room, all his toys…his father.

Francis made his way into the living room just around the bend from the stairs. There already was Arthur, fully dressed, sitting on the white couch patterned with pink flowers and green leaves all outlined in gold. The Frenchman crossed his arms and leaned against the pearl white wall.

"You didn't tell me you had a son." Arthur gazed down at the burgundy coffee table. His face was blank, but not enough that you couldn't see the regret in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Francis stared at the dull, thick white carpet under him, fancily weaved to look like squares inside squares lined against each other.

"There's not much that can be done about that now…" Arthur sighed. He was left with an important decision of his own. Abandon ship or stay with Francis to see if this affair was worth destroying a little boy's family.

)()()()()(

"Matthew," Alfred whispered, nudging his neighbour aboard the plane, "Matthew wake up. We're almost there."

"Hmmm…" The Canadian stirred as his conscious lifted out of sleep. With half lidded eyes he tilted his head to stare at the young man who had woken him from his sleep. He mumbled, rubbing his eyes, "What?"

"I said," Alfred's voice, in both volume and enthusiasm, picked up, "We're almost there."

"Oh," Matthew sat up straight and checked his watch. "It's a quarter to six."

"Not really," Alfred informed him, "We've flown over a couple of time zones so…it's more like…midnight. Maybe 12:30ish."

The blonde Canadian held his hands out in front of him, reaching out to stretch, "Hmmm, I guess you've got a point."

The American smiled sincerely, "You look like you had a good sleep."

"It wasn't bad." Matthew confirmed, taking the opportunity to surveillance his surroundings.

"The stewardess already came around and offered everyone dinner. Because we're in first class it's already paid for," Alfred pulled out a sandwich wrapped in saran. "It's ham. I grabbed you one for when you woke up. I figured you'd be hungry. If you're not I'll eat it."

"No, I think I'll have some." Matthew reached out. Truth be told he hadn't eaten much all day.

"You sure?" Alfred blinked, "Cause I don't mind eating it."

Matthew stared at him blankly for a moment. He finally spoke, "I'm actually really hungry."

"Well," Alfred handed over the sandwich, built on a Kaiser bun, "that's ok. I'll just order a snack."

Matthew began unwrapping his meal when Alfred said something that startled him. It made him nearly drop his sandwich.

"I want you to live with me."

"What?" Matthew blinked, "It's bad enough that I left home for this little excursion but you want me to live with you? Are you serious? I can barely live with my own father…"

"Matthew." Alfred stared straight into the Canadian's eyes, "I want you to _live _with me. Not live with me. Spain isn't enough. I want to see the entire would. I want to get out there and experience life and I want you to come with me."

Matthew frowned, "I still don't see what you're seeing. You're acting like we've known each other forever. We only met a couple of days ago."

"And yet," Alfred smiled, "You're here."

* * *

End Notes:

~Quebec Bulldogs were part of the National Hockey Association before it became the NHL. They played in Quebec City from 1910-1917 (though their origin date goes back to 1878). In 1917 the team moved to Hamilton, Ontario because of financial difficulties. Things didn't work out there either so the team moved once again, this time to New York City, making it the first ever official American team. Today the team, then the New York Yankees, is now part of the National Hockey League known to everyone as the New York Rangers.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Person: Oh person! Why do you not have an account I can comment back to?! Oh how I would have loved to respond to you personally. Anyway, in regards to your question, Arthur regretted it even more simply because Matthew is a child. Hurting a grown woman is one thing, but a little boy? The wife can move on and love again and establish a new household, but the child is going to get stuck being tossed around between the two parents. Not fun. Besides, Arthur knew what he was getting into because he knew Francis had a wife…he had no clue about Matthew. Arthur got a little dose of reality when he saw Matthew. XD

I hope that answers your question. If not, I'm terribly sorry.

BTW GUYS! The next chapter (7) is SERIOUSLY rated M for some terribly written sexiness…

And this chapter introduces some NEW CHARACTERS! Yay!

NOTE: Sorry if there are spelling mistakes. I've been terribly busy...and on a side note, has anyone else been having problems logging in? I keep getting a message from my internet saying "Display secure information only" (Allow?). Am I the only one getting this? If I don't click it my profile account is all messed up with text and stuff. (shakes fist at fanfiction) Y U DO THIS!?

* * *

Matthew walked down the corridor leading to the room where the conveyer belt brought the luggage around in a circular pattern. He was still thinking about what Alfred had said to him on the plane. _I want you to live with me. _The thought was so distracting that Matthew accidentally bumped into another person.

The person he bumped into turned around and looked at him. He was slightly tanned with green eyes and brown hair. His t-shirt was orange and his baggy brown shorts cut off just below the knee, "Oh whoa."

"I'm sorry," Matthew said sincerely, "I wasn't watching where I was going. Sorry."

"Oh no, man," The young man, not too much older than Matthew, responded, "It's no big deal. So you're not from here, right? That's too bad, Spain's a great country. I should know; this is where I call home. Well, have a great trip!"

"Oh…thank you." The Canadian was speechless. He watched the brunette wonder towards another brown-haired man with a curly piece of hair sticking out. His friend yelled at him to hurry up and accused him of being slow.

"Matt," Alfred placed a soft hand on Matthew's shoulder breaking his silent observation, "Let's get our luggage and get going."

"Right…" The blonde spoke as if he were in a daze. He followed Alfred blindly, keeping his eyes on the two brunettes as the one continued to banter the other. After a moment he lost interest and caught up to his American companion several steps ahead of him.

The carpeted floor offered little traction on the wheels of Alfred's suitcase. The American seemed to glide down the narrow passage ways, down a flight of steps and on towards the main lobby where the purple carpet was replaced by cold, hard tiles.

Looking at his watch Alfred hummed, "It's already 2:20 am. I can't believe it took us nearly an hour to get through customs."

"Especially when you consider how late it is." Matthew added.

"Well," The rich young man's attitude perked up, "Let's find a couch or something to crash on. We'll find a hotel in the morning."

Matthew was momentarily stunned when he remembered that this jaunt of theirs was last minute. Alfred probably didn't have time to book a hotel. He looked around but there were no couches to be found…just long blue plastic benches. It was going to be a long...early morning.

Alfred and Matthew headed over to a bench near one of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows peering out into the city. The American left his suitcase standing up, while the Canadian parked his duffle bag on the ground in front of him.

"So," Alfred attempted to start a conversation, sitting down beside Matthew, "how do you feel?"

Matthew looked around at his surroundings. On the other side of the room was a long row of tellers where employees checked flight tickets and stickered luggage before sending it into the back to be sorted. There were no desk clerks in the lobby now; it was too late for anyone to be flying out. Matthew figured they'd begin showing up some time around 5:30 in the morning. Above the tellers area in large, capitalized blue letters read the name of the airport: Barajas Airport. Looking up, yellow beams appeared to be holding a high rippling ceiling in place. The moon was visible in the centre glass of three window circles embedded in the roof. On the far wall sat some vending machines. One had bottled water and bottled soda pop and the other had a mixture of European candy, chocolate and nuts. He wondered if it was in Euros. On further reflection he realized he didn't have any Euros…he didn't know where Alfred was taking him so he was unable to convert any money. Not that he had any money to convert anyway…

"I'm not sure," he finally answered the question after a thoughtful gaze around the large room.

Alfred frowned. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he knew it wasn't that, "Are you excited or scared or…"

"A little of both I guess," Matthew stared at his fellow 'run-away youngster'.

"Yeah," Alfred looked at the floor beneath him, "I am too. I've never done this before. I just had to get away though, you know?"

Matthew nodded. He knew very well what Alfred meant.

"Oh hey," The American looked up, "We still have to get you some clothes."

The Quebecer looked down at his attire. His plain blue t-shirt was covered by a light material tartan shirt that was unbuttoned and white. The checkered stripes were a light brown. The jeans he wore weren't too baggy, but they also weren't tight and his white sneakers were worn down and browning. Matthew frowned. He really hadn't put much thought into what he had put on the other morning.

Alfred grinned, "It's a good thing I brought Debbie."

Matthew was too disappointed to notice Alfred's statement. He was upset with himself for a variety of reasons. His attire, his ill-thought out decision to jump on a plane with some guy he didn't know. At the same time he was opportunistic. It was the chance of a lifetime to experience the world. His biggest fear however, was still Alfred. Was he using Matthew? Did he want something in return? Why would he offer to pay for all of this if he wasn't expecting some kind of favour? Wait a minute…who's Debbie?

"Debbie?" Matthew raised a brow.

"Oh yeah, Debbie," Alfred pulled out his wallet and retracted a charcoal black card with light blue print resting in one of the card slots, "My debit card."

Matthew blinked, "You named your debit card…?"

"Of course I did!" Alfred was beaming, "it's a genius idea, isn't it? When someone tries to rob me and demands me to hand over my money I can be all like… 'I don't have any money, I just have Debbie.'"

"Um…sure," The Canadian was nowhere near convinced. How dumb could Alfred be to not realize that a theft would know what a debit card is and that most people have them? He sighed feeling the issue wasn't worth pressing.

"Hey, after we find a hotel," Alfred began changing the subject, "why don't we scout out the area and see if we can find a casino. I can show you my awesome poker skills."

"That sounds great," Matthew said, following a hand covered yawn. Despite having slept on the plane he was exhausted mentally from overthinking his situation. For one reason or another he found himself draw to his jean pocket. In there he found his blackberry. He pulled it out and turned it on. There were a record 104 messages. He knew who they were from – his father and Arthur. Sifting through his messages he deleted one after the other. They started off simple "where are you?" and became more and more detailed as he went on. _When do you plan on coming home? Are you at Nathan's? Your coach called, you didn't show up, where are you? Matthew, why are you not answering your phone?_ There were even some messages in French. _Je suis inquiète. Rentre à la maison_. Seeing the message from his father made him more disappointed than excited. He could only imagine how worried his dad was.

"Your folks, er…dad…z…?" Alfred held back a little not sure how to approach the topic. He wasn't sure if Matthew was sensitive over the whole 'gay parents' things.

"Yeah." Matthew answered shoving the tech device back into his jean pocket. "It's nothing. It's not like I can go back right now anyway. I'm already here, might as well enjoy myself."

"That's the spirit!" Alfred slapped Matt on the back with a hearty laugh.

"I should call my coach though…or text him or something." Matthew pulled the blackberry back out of his pocket quickly, "It's not his fault any of this happened."

Matthew started to input the coaches text number when he suddenly stopped, "Oh, but he's going to want to know when I'm going to be back. Do you know?"

Alfred shrugged, "I dunno. I don't plan on going back any time soon. You can go back whenever you want, I'll pay."

Matthew blinked and stared at Alfred. He looked empty and disappointed. It made Matthew feel guilty inside, as if Alfred somehow thought Matthew was going to abandon him. The Canadian was about to comfort his companion when two shadows loomed over the pair.

"You guys waiting for a ride?"

Matthew and Alfred looked up. Matt batted his eyes in surprise, "It's you."

Standing before the North Americans was the young man from early accompanied by his friend. The friend's hair was a slightly darker brown. He was wearing a red polo shirt with two thin white lines running across close to the collar. His dress pants were beige. With a black duffle bag over his shoulders he stood tall with his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah," The Spanish man spoke, "We finally got out of there."

"The only reason it took us such a long time is because you're so slow." The younger man in the red shirt said. He sounded Italian.

"Oh man," The Spaniard said, ignoring his friend's comment. He slapped his forehead as he continued, "How rude of me, I should introduce myself. I'm Antonio and my friend is Lovino."

Lovino blew air out of his nose as he looked away, "Yeah. Hi."

"Come on, Lovi," Antonio smiled, "Be nice."

"Don't call me Lovi!" The Italian snapped, his face blushing red.

"So," Antonio turned his attention back to the two boys sitting down in front of him, "What are your names and where are you from?"

"I'm Matthew." The Canadian started with a simple, but sincere, smile, "I'm from Quebec, Canada."

"Yeah," Alfred added with an enthusiastic glow, "I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. From the land of the free and the home of the brave."

"Oh," Antonio smirked, "so we're getting into last names already then? Carriedo. Fernandez Carriedo."

Alfred was confused, "I thought you said your name was Antonio."

"It is _stupid_," Lovino jumped in, "His full name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

"It's okay Lovino," Antonio nodded to his friend, "It was just a misunderstanding. So Alfred, you know what the F in my name stands for, what about yours?"

"Well," Alfred started with a grin. He was cut off by the Italian.

"Yo, I didn't get the chance to say my full name. I'm Lovino Romano Vargas." Lovino looked at Matthew, "What about you?"

"Oh yeah!" Antonio perked up looking at the Canadian, "What's your full name?"

"Matthew Bonnefoy-Cartier." Matt answered reluctantly. He worried someone might ask about his dual last name. Normally he didn't tell anyone about his Cartier name, but he figured Alfred might bring it up if he didn't. Instead he got a different reaction.

"Bonnefoy?" Antonio raised a brow, "That's an interesting middle name."

Alfred broke out into laughter and opened his mouth to explain but stopped when he was nudged in the knee by the Canadian. While not the brightest crayon in the box the hint was obvious. Alfred kept quiet saying only, "Yeah, it's interesting."

"So anyway," Antonio reverted to his original question, "are you waiting for a cab or something? I don't know if any hotels would be doing check-ins at this hour. Normally people who take later flights are those returning home."

"We just jumped on a plane and took off." Alfred bluntly elucidated.

"Oh wow!" Antonio's eyes lit up with excitement, "That's cool! You're like wanderers. So you're going to backpack around Europe?"

Matthew frowned, "I hope not." He looked to Alfred for the answer since he was completely in the dark.

"No," Alfred said, crossing one leg over the other. He shrugged his shoulders as he continued, "It's easy. We'll just find a vacant hotel and grab a room. We'll just wait here until the morning."

"Well if that's the case," Antonio cupped his chin with his left hand, "Why don't you guys come with us then. Stay the night and get a hotel tomorrow afternoon."

"Seriously?" Matthew asked. He was both surprised and relieved. Surprised they would invite strangers (as ironic as it was since he himself was travelling with more or less of a stranger) but relieved that he could finally rest somewhere soft.

"Sure why not?" The Spaniard grabbed the small red luggage container he'd be carrying by hand off the ground. "Follow me. We'll get a cab."

Lovino was less than impressed, "What the hell? Where do you get off inviting people to your house? You don't even know them."

Antonio turned and smiled, "Sure I do. They're Alfred and Matthew." He turned back and walked towards the lobby door leading outside.

Lovino grumbled and followed with Matthew and Alfred not too far behind. By the time they had caught up with the Spaniard he'd already succeeded in hailing a cab. The taxi driver was opening the trunk for him to put his little red suitcase in.

"There's lots of room back there," Antonio said, "Throw your stuff in guys."

One by one the three tag-a-longs tossed their luggage in the tail of the white car containing a diagonal red stripe on the driver and passenger doors.

"Well that was quick," Alfred smiled as the driver opened the back door for him, "It's a nightmare trying to grab a taxi in New York. It takes forever."

Antonio laughed getting into the front seat, "Not here in Madrid. It's relatively easy."

The four boys packed themselves into the European car. Antonio sat in the front and the others in the back. Lovino had the window seat behind Antonio, Alfred insisted once again on the window seat - his was behind the driver, and Matthew was squished in between them.

As the driver pulled away from the curb, Antonio turned around and grinned at the North Americans, "bet you find it weird, eh? You know, the driving."

Acknowledging the Spaniard's statement, Matthew looked at him on the left side of the vehicle, and over to the driver who was on the right side. In Europe the steering wheel was on the opposite side. In fact, the whole driving system was opposite. Not only was the driver seat on the reversed side, but the way one drove on the street was too. The driver was still towards the centre of the road but where North American's would drive on the right, the Europeans drove on the left.

"Actually," Matthew smiled at Antonio, "I'm somewhat familiar with it. I've been to France a couple of times and to Britain once."

"Seriously?" the American beamed, "I've been to Europe a couple of times too. Mostly places like England, France, Russia…you know, big business countries."

Antonio frowned. Without anyone saying anything he came to the realization that Spain was not in that list. It made him rather sad. His country had once been a feared and respected empire. It had now been reduced to a 'have-not' nation. At least, that's the way the world saw Spain. In the eyes of many around the world it was poverty stricken, poor, and a disease on the European economy. Antonio anticipated the day when his country's reputation would change.

Trying to cheer himself up he looked behind him at the backseat crew, "Oh, I should have mentioned this before but I live just outside the city. I hope that's okay. It's were some of the best sightseeing places are anyway."

"I don't mind." Matthew smiled sweetly.

"Me neither," Alfred added, "I'm just glad to be out of the airport."

Lovino rolled his eyes and stared out the window. He had been hoping to spend some quality time with young man he'd grown up with. During his trip home to his native Italy, he was constantly babysitting (in his view) his younger brother and did not get much time to spend with Antonio. Now these two extra wheels were going to ruin his week. He hoped they would not stay long.

The taxi driver sped down the rustic streets of Madrid passing old buildings along the way. They travelled down the Av de América to get to Antonio's apartment. The Spaniard insisted it would only take about fifteen to twenty minutes since the streets were nearly deserted.

The drive seemed to take less time than predicted as the boys were too preoccupied with the sites. When the driver finally pulled down the tight, side ally street Antonio pointed to the fifth floor from the top of a golden yellow building.

"That's where I live guys," He said, "Right near the Universitarios de San Luis. I'm studying there right now."

"That's nice," Matthew smiled. He was feeling hot; both from the humid Spanish air but also from being jammed between two other men in the backseat of a small car. "What are you studying?"

"Bullfighting!" Antonio gave the Canadian a thumbs-up.

Alfred was bedazzled, "You serious!? That's awesome! Can you show us your stuff?"

The grouchy Lovino broke the bad news, "he was joking, you idiot. He's studying cartography."

The American raised a brow, "Why is he studying carts?"

"No," Matthew couldn't help but laugh, "he's studying maps."

Alfred blinked, "I don't get it."

"Carts comes from the Greek chartes or charax, which is a reference to paper, or more specifically papyrus," Antonio explained, "And graphein means to write."

Because there were no parking spaces available on the street, they were all taken by small cars of different colours, the cab stopped in the middle of the street to let them out. There was no traffic at this hour so there was no concern for blocking the street. Antonio jumped out and opened the door behind him for Lovino to get out. The taxi driver opened Alfred's door before popping the trunk of the car. After climbing out the American made some room to let his companion wiggle out behind him.

The taxi driver, a tanned old man with a white mustache and white cap, handed everyone their luggage. He mistakenly gave Matthew Lovino's duffle bag but the correction was made when the driver recognized the Hockey Canada symbol on the other duffle bag.

Antonio reached into his pocket and pulled out some Euro dollars. He handed them to the driver thanking him for the ride. The old man placed the bills in a pocket on the front of his casual white, button up shirt before re-entering the vehicle and taking off down the street.

Carrying their luggage to the sidewalk the group waited for further instructions from the Spaniard. Antonio pointed to a black cage door fixed on the building, "That's the entrance." He told them as he led the way.

The travellers headed past the gate and through the glass door that followed. Since Antonio had a key there was no need for the intercom and the group past the second glass door easily. The foyer was small but fancy looking. It had black marble floors and a faux golden table to the one side with a pink plant sitting on it. Down a few paces were two small stairs and just past that the two sets of elevators. As they past they noticed the concierge desk was vacant. The desk was also black and had a telephone and computer sitting on it.

Alfred went to press the button when Antonio stopped him, "Sorry man. Last time I checked the elevators were down. Besides, no one ever uses them anyway. The stairs are just to our right. We walk."

Walking up a building was unusual for Alfred. He twisted his lips not sure what to make of it, but decided to go along with it. As he watched Lovino and Antonio disappear behind the door leading to the staircase, he received an encouraging pat on the back from Matthew who past him. Alfred sighed and followed, there was no use causing a fuss over it, especially this late at night.

Climbing five floors ate up several minutes, but the team finally made it to floor number five. Antonio clicked the black tap that unlatched the door and opened it leading to the hallway. Lovino followed quietly with Matthew and Alfred tagging behind. Antonio paced down his left, four apartment door past him by until he reached his own.

"We're here," He whispered, not wanting to disturb the other residences. He unlocked the front door and pushed it back revealing a fair sized apartment.

Matthew was surprised. He was expecting something smaller. He brushed past the narrow entrance hallway which led to a split between the living room and the kitchen. The kitchen, which looked more like its own narrow hallway, was to his immediate left while the living room was laid out in front of him. Antonio pointed out that the two rooms aligned to his right were the bathroom and the laundry room.

"Laundry room, eh?" Alfred trailed in behind, "Fancy."

Antonio crossed the living room, a wall with pictures of himself, his family and his friends providing a background for his walk. As he reached the point where two walls enclosed the walk space he turned around. "Mine and Lovino's bedrooms are down here. I'm sorry, but we only have two rooms."

A golden idea struck the Spaniard, "Unless Lovi wants to share with me that is."

"No." The Italian answered quickly, pushing past Antonio and marching into his room. He slammed the door behind him.

The emerald eyed brunette gave a small huffing laugh, "I figured he'd say that. I don't think he's too happy with me right now."

Matthew frowned, "I'm sorry. It's our fault. We should have stayed at the airport."

"Nah," The Spaniard waved down the apology, "don't worry about it. He'll get used to it soon enough."

Antonio turned to open his door, "I'll get some extra sheets for the pullout couch, okay. Just wait here."

As he disappeared into his room Matthew and Alfred exchanged looks. They couldn't believe their fortune to have found such a nice person on their first day abroad. Neither of them wanted to further inconvenience the Spanish man so they, without saying anything, agreed to find a hotel soon.

Alfred walked the floor to sit on the plushy, white leather coach. He ran his hand over the glass embedded in an iron casing that made up the coffee table. On either side of the couch stood tall lamps which were meant to light the room. Alfred leaned over and turned the one closest to him on.

Looking at Matthew he said, "I wonder if Antonio has a computer."

"Why?" The Canadian responded, "Can't you use your iPhone?"

"Sure…but that would involve turning it on." Alfred explained, "Which means my dad can call me."

Matthew nodded. In truth he was afraid to turn his blackberry on too.

Soon enough Antonio returned with a few sheets and pillowcases. He also had a beige, woollen comforter with him. It looked more like a fluffy sheet. Moving the coffee table off to the side the Spaniard instructed Alfred to get off the couch and help him pull away the sofa cushions. Removing the giant plushy blocks was relatively easy; pulling out the metal frame underneath was not. When it finally did pop loose the two pulled it back and rested it in place.

The two wiped away a few beads of sweat while Matthew dressed the bed with the pearly white sheets. After the bed was made and the pillows fluffed Antonio bid them a goodnight and returned to his room, shutting the door behind him.

Matthew was the first to settle in on the couch-turned-bed. He pulled down a corner of the sheets and slid himself inside. Alfred was pacing the room wondering aloud if he should ask Antonio for something to eat. He was terribly hungry.

"Can't it wait until the morning?" Matthew asked, checking his watch, "it's just after three. We'll all be up in five or six hours."

"No, it can't wait." Alfred stopped and pouted.

The Canadian frowned, "I didn't bring anything with me to eat. And you can't go rummaging around Antonio's fridge. That's rude."

"Bring anything to eat…" The blonde American echoed the words. "Oh hey! That's right! I never finished those chips!"

Matthew was at a loss. He watched Alfred throw open his carrying on and dig out a tin of Pringles. Yanking off the top he chowed down on a handful of them before declaring the can to be officially empty. He closed the lid, placed it back in his backpack and licked the remaining powdered sauce off his lips.

Alfred stood up and stretched before discarding his favourite bomber jacket and beige pants on the floor. He pulled the sheets on his side of the bed and climbed in next to Matthew. Staring at the young man next to him he gave a nervous smile, "Well…this is awkward."

"Tell me about it," Matthew stared down sheepishly at the crinkled sheets covering his legs.

"Well," Alfred leaned back and covered his torso with the cotton material, "like you said it's just a couple of hours."

"Yeah," Matthew joined him in laying back. He curved to his side to stare into Alfred's eyes, "just a few hours."

Alfred smiled, "Goodnight Mattie."

The other young man smiled as he closed his eyes, "Goodnight Al."

* * *

End Notes:

~ Je suis inquiète. Rentre à la maison. – is "I am worried. Come home."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

A/N: So we're KIND OF going somewhere now…

Also, I didn't edit this chapter...a part of me can barely look at it. Sorry, the sexy scene is just that bad (in my opinion).

* * *

A hefty door creaked as it was marginally opened. In slipped an average height figure tiptoeing over stranded pieces of clothing scattered on the floor. The room was pitch black, making it difficult to see. As the figure lurked towards the wooden bed his eyes adjusted. Soon he could see the sleeping person. Pulling back the covers the figure crouched into bed with the person; he hesitated slightly as the mattress gave a noisy squeak. Yanking the blankets back on top of the two bodies he scooted close to the person.

"Mmmmm," a groggy voice mumbled half awake. He grabbed onto the waist of the figure sharing his bed, "I knew you wouldn't stay made at me long, Lovi."

The Italian blushed and wiggled out of the grip, "Shut up, Antonio."

The Spaniard flicked one eye open, "Good morning to you too, sweetheart."

Lovino crossed his arms in a huff and angrily looked towards the ceiling, "I'm not your sweetheart."

"Sure" Antonio smiled, still sleepy, "whatever you say."

The brunette with the curl frowned and looked back at his partner, "Why would you invite them here? I spent all week chasing after my brother to make sure that damn potato head didn't do anything bad to him and now I have to babysit these two."

Antonio snuggled up to the Italian, "It sounds to me like you're upset because we can't spend any time together alone."

Lovino did not want to admit it but it was the truth. Last week when the two were in Italy he practically ignored the Spaniard as he spied on his younger brother and his best friend. Lovino despised his brother's best friend more than almost anyone. He was a strict, mean, stuck-up, neat freak, son-of-a-potato eating German. This was all in Lovino's opinion, of course. His brother saw things very differently.

Antonio didn't need Lovino to say anything to understand how he felt. He wrapped his arms around the Italian and drew his face in. He gave a tender kiss on the cheek, loving how the arrogant man shivered at the touch. Lovino liked to act tough, but Antonio knew the truth – he was unsure of himself and his importance in the world, it often left him miserable and bitter.

The Spaniard continued to kiss the Italian despite the young man's quiet pleas to stop in case the two guests in the other room heard. Antonio silenced him and his concern with a deep kiss on the lips. Letting the feeling linger for a moment Antonio pulled back waiting for Lovino's approval to continue.

The Italian, face flushed and red, sputtered, "A-Antonio…I…"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP…

Both Antonio and Lovino grumbled as the alarm broke their moment of yearning. Looking at the old fashioned silver alarm standing up on his bedside table on Lovino's side Antonio wondered if he could get away with stopping the clock and continue this scene of lovingness. Seeing it was nearly ten in the morning he didn't think so.

THUMP.

The rustling in the next room confirmed this.

"Ungh," Antonio pried himself up, "Another time."

Lovino scoffed with a pout, "That's what you always say."

The Spaniard leaned over to give his partner a peck on the forehead, "I don't have anything to do today. Once we shove the Americanos out the door we'll have the place all to ourselves."

The Italian gave a look of scepticism, "You promise?"

Patting him on the shoulder the other brunette nodded, "For you, I promise the moon."

Lovino rolled his eyes, "I don't want the stupid moon, I just want you." Realizing the corniness of his words he quickly corrected himself, "I mean, I just want some time alone. With you….I mean….just keep your stupid promise okay?"

"Of course," Antonio climbed out of bed and dragged himself towards the door. It was still partially open. He turned back and gave the Italian a sly smile, "It's a good thing we were whispering. Those two might have heard."

Lovino reached behind him and picked up one of the soft white pillows behind him. He swiftly chucked it at Antonio saying, "Shut up Antonio. Get out of here."

The Spaniard leaped out the door, closing it behind him before the pillow could make contact. He laughed and gave a sigh of relief. Turning on his heels he headed towards the kitchen where he could hear banging noises and quiet chatter. Most of the small talk consisted of "shhhh, quiet" or "careful with that" and "I told you to be careful" and "what if they hear us? Be quiet."

Antonio turned the corner to see Alfred digging through the bottom cabinets trying to find something while Matthew stirred some kind of tan mixture in a large, blue, plastic mixing bowl. The brunette blinked not sure what to make of the scene. These strangers, as friendly as they were, were doing…something…in his kitchen. Opening his mouth, he tried not to startle them, "Um…good morning?"

"Oh," Matthew looked at him, slightly surprised. He stopped mixing his concoction. He finally smiled and bid Antonio a good morning as well, "I'm sorry about the mess. Alfred and I wanted to repay you by making breakfast."

Antonio's face lit up at the grand gesture, "Oh, so that's what all the noise is about. That's a really nice thing you guys are doing. You didn't have to do it though."

"But we wanted to," Alfred stood up, finally finding the pan he was looking for, "Well…it was mostly Matthew's idea. I just went along with it because I was hungry."

The Spaniard watched as Alfred placed the skillet onto one of the black heating circles on the white stove, "So…what are you guys making anyway?"

"Pancakes," Matthew answered without hesitation, "I was going to make bacon but I saw you didn't have any."

"Yeah," Antonio rubbed the back of his head, "Sorry, not much in here."

"That's alright," The Canadian smiled, "We'll make due."

He poured three blobs of the finished mixture onto the frying pan. As it fizzled it sent a light aroma of cooking flour batter into the air. For three hungry travellers it smelt golden. The smelled must have been stronger than they imagined as Lovino entered the kitchen shortly after the pancakes began to cook.

Looking at everyone independently the Italian asked, "What's cooking in here?"

"Pancakes," Alfred grinned, "Mattie's making them."

"I don't care who's making them," Lovino turned around and exited the room, "Just tell me when they're done. I'm taking a shower."

When Lovino had left the area Antonio turned around and gave a telling smile with a cocked brow to Alfred, "Mattie is it?"

Both North American boys blushed. Alfred hadn't meant it the way Antonio seemed to be suggesting.

"Oh, no," Alfred waved his hands back and forth, fanning away the suspicion, "We're just friends."

"We just met each other a few days ago, truthfully." Matthew added, flipping the pancakes.

Antonio was surprised, "Really? Why take off together then? Unless you're –"

"We're not eloping." Matthew corrected the Spaniard's thought before he could even say it, "Alfred just invited me to get away from my regular life."

"Why do it?" Antonio asked, "If you barely know him."

Matthew paused for a moment. He couldn't quite think of a reason that appeared believable. He went with the only answer he could give, "I don't know."

"Well anyway," The Spaniard sought to change the subject, "I guess you two will be heading out today, right?"

"Oh yeah," Alfred recollected, "We said we'd go searching for a hotel to stay at."

"We're very sorry for inconveniencing you." Matthew further said.

Antonio shrugged it off, "Nah, it's nothing. Glad I could help."

Alfred walked over to the long, skinny table. He pulled back one of the chairs and sat down, "Should be done any minute, right Matt?"

"Yup," Matthew nodded, watching the pancakes fluff up in the pan. He was so focused on the food that he failed to notice Alfred using the more formal version of his shortened name. The Canadian looked up to the cupboards wondering which one contained the plates.

Antonio seemed to instantly know what he was looking for. The Spaniard walked up to Matthew and opened the cupboard to his upper left. Inside the cupboard were china plates, the dull everyday ones, on the bottom shelf, some plastic white see-through glasses on the second, and some cereal boxes on the top. Antonio pulled out four plates and set them on the counter next to the stove.

"Oh, thanks." Matthew scooped up the pancakes using the spatula and plopped two onto two plates. He turned around and placed them on the table two steps behind him, "You guys can go ahead and eat first. I'll put more batter on for me and Lovino."

"Sounds good." The brunette pulled out the far chair towards the kitchen entrance and sat down. Remembering he had some vanilla yogurt in the fridge he got up and walked over to the chilly box and grabbed the container from inside. Antonio made a quick detour back to the counter where he grabbed two forks and some blueberries for his plate. He concluded his run around by returning to the table to sit down and enjoy his breakfast.

After graciously receiving one of the forks Alfred watched the young man put yogurt and berries on his pancakes. The American frowned. He'd never eaten pancakes like that before. He normally had chocolate chips, whipped cream and sometimes maple syrup. Finally he spoke up, "Um, you wouldn't happen to have…chocolate sauce or…maple syrup or something…would you?"

Antonio looked up, a chunk of pancake already in his mouth, "No. Why would I have that?"

Matthew turned around and grimaced, "You don't have maple syrup? How strange."

Alfred roared into laughter, "Of course YOU have Maple Syrup Mattie, what Canadian doesn't have it?"

The blue-eyed blonde cook scrunched his face, "Some people outside of Quebec use fake maple syrup. It's like…honey coloured syrup with sugar and artificial flavouring…it's gross."

"Molasses might work." Alfred thought to himself aloud.

The Canadian glared, "Ew, no."

Antonio laughed. He couldn't help but think that these two were rather cute together.

As the pancakes turned a golden brown Matthew turned the knob on the stove to switch the burner off. He placed two on his plate and two on a second plate. He left the second plate on the counter for Lovino and proceeded to make his way to the table. Sitting down he took the opportunity to try his pancakes with yogurt like Antonio and Alfred had done. He topped it off with a couple of blueberries. It was quite delicious!

One bite into his second pancake, the bathroom door swung open and out came Lovino with a towel draped over his bare upper body. He was wearing only baggy black shorts.

The smell of pancakes was delightful. Lovino marched into the kitchen and looked at the three sitting around the table, "Yo, where are my pancakes?"

"On the counter, Lovi." Antonio pointed towards the plate without even looking at the Italian.

Lovino trudged over to the counter, grabbed the plate and turned to look at the table. While there was some space at the table for him to sit down beside Matthew away from the wall, there were no extra chairs. "Yo?" He caused a fuss, "What the hell is this? Where am I going to sit?"

Picking up his plate Antonio pushed his chair back and dropped the dish into the sink. He looked at the Italian when he was done, "You can have my seat."

Lovino was not amused, "What…I can't sit with you?"

"You're going to make one of our guests move?" The Spaniard beamed with humour. He knew he'd caught Lovino in a trap.

"No. I dunno. Maybe…" Lovino pouted and looked away, "Fine, whatever. I'll sit in your seat."

As he sat down to eat Alfred was across the table pulling out a tour book of Spain he'd found at the airport in Montreal. He was thrilled that he managed to find one in English. Sifting through the pages he looked at all the events, parks and museums in Madrid. Glancing over at Matthew he asked, "So what did you want to do today?"

Matthew thought quietly for a minute before asking, "What _is_ there to do?"

"Well," Alfred reopened the book, "Says here there are three parts of Madrid: Old Madrid, Bourbon Madrid and the outskirts of Madrid."

"I'm not sure we'll be able to see it all in one day." Matthew pointed out.

"Why not start with the main attractions in Old Madrid," Antonio offered, "then make your way back with all the local hangouts."

Matthew looked at the Spaniard and nodded with a smile, "That sounds like a good idea."

"Where to first then?" Alfred's eyes rolled up and down over the glossy pages, "Plaza Mayor? The Basilica Pontifica de San Miguel? Puerta del Sol?"

"Ooh," Antonio's face lite up, "Plaza Mayor is a definite must for any tourist. They used to have bullfighting and executions and pageants and lots of stuff there. Sometimes the King and Queen would show up for events."

"Well definitely go then." Matthew stood up to put his and Alfred's empty plates into the sink. He had intended on washing them as well but Antonio waved him away saying he would do it later.

Filling the sink up with water to let the dishes soak Antonio made other suggestions, "You might also want to try Plaza de Villa. There are a lot of old buildings there, some date back to the early 15th century. The Colegiata de San Isidro is a nice church that contains a lot of Spain's Jesuit history."

Alfred blinked, "Jesuit?"

"They're a branch of Catholicism," Matthew answered him, "They played a big role in the foundation of Canada, or more specifically Quebec, too. They converted a lot of the Natives."

Changing the subtopic Alfred cut in to ask, "Are we going to see any of that Spanish Inquisition stuff?"

"I'd bet," Antonio turned and winked at the American, "Plaza de Mayor is a focal point for people interested in that."

"I'd like to stop and have some coffee at a Spanish café," Matthew said sitting back down on his chair at the table, "It's just so…European."

"Meh," Al shrugged his shoulders, "I'd rather just grab a beer and catch a bullfight. Wait –" he stopped in midsentence to look at Antonio with a nerve-racking expression, "you guys _are_ still doing bullfights, right?"

Antonio placed the dish towel he'd be holding on the counter and looked at Alfred with a satisfied grin, "Yes sir, but only on Sundays."

Alfred cursed his luck, it was Tuesday. He'd have to wait a full six days before he could see the modern day coliseum show. Okay, not modern, but it was still active unlike the Roman Gladiator battles. How Alfred would love to see something like that!

"Spain isn't just big on bullfighting," Matthew smiled at his companion, "they like dancing too."

"You're half right, half wrong." Antonio interrupted, "We love our dancing, but bullfighting is becoming less popular all over Spain. It's almost to the point where the practice could be virtually whipped out."

The blue eyed American frowned depressingly, "Dude, that sucks. It's a good thing I get to see it before it's gone."

"Enjoy it while you can." Antonio encouraged him.

On the far end of the table, towards the kitchen entrance Lovino was finishing his meal. He was only half paying attention to the conversation at the table. He made sure to add on the thing he was most fixated on, "Don't forget to find yourselves a hotel while you're out there."

Antonio, Matthew and Alfred stared at the Italian as he looked up from the table, "What? You can't come back _here_. This was only for one night, remember? Right, Antonio?"

The Spaniard was not too pleased his Italian lover was trying to hide behind him after making such a brutal comment. It was true, he had only offered the boys one night, but he didn't want to give the false impression that he and his country were unwelcoming. Trying to shake the ill feeling without double crossing Lovino Antonio added, "Take your time, but be sure to phone us when you find a place. We'll get your stuff ready for you to pick up."

"That would be really great," Matthew acknowledged Antonio's helpfulness with a nod.

"Well," Alfred pushed his chair back against the tile floor, "I'd say it's about time we get going. If we sit here and just chat about all the things we want to see, we'll never end up seeing them."

Matthew followed, "You have a point." He smiled at Antonio and thanked him again for the use of the kitchen before he made his way back to the living room to grab his wallet.

Alfred was already in the living room grabbing his iPhone and "Debbie". His plain blue t-shirt matched his eyes and his jeans were a dark charcoal black. While Matthew, dressed in a red t-shirt with "Canadian, eh?" written in white and blue jeans, grabbed his wallet, the American moved towards the front door to put his black and white Nike sneakers on.

"Kay, so, we're off," Al opened the door and held it patiently for Matthew who was putting his red Converses on.

"Bye you guys!" Antonio peaked out from behind the wall that partitioned the entry hall and the kitchen, "Have a good time!"

Standing up, Matthew turned around to smile at Antonio, "We will. Thanks again for all your help."

Antonio laughed, "You Canadians are too polite. Get going already."

The Quebecer huffed a short laugh and exited the apartment with Alfred leading the way. Antonio wondered what kind of trouble those two would get themselves into. More importantly however, was the trouble he and Lovino would get into without the two North Americans around. A sinister grin spread across his lips as he thought about all the things he would do to the Italian.

Turning back to the kitchen he watched Lovino from behind, finishing his breakfast. The Italian stood up and walked over to the sink to dump his plate in. He turned the tap on to wash his hand, a light blob of yogurt had fallen on it, but before he could put his hands under the stream of water it was turned off.

"Hey!" Lovino shot his head up to give a nasty snare at Antonio. The Spaniard returned the glare with a mischievous smirk.

"I want you to lick it off."

The Italian stared wide eyed, "What?"

Antonio continued his tempting grin, "Lick it off."

By now Lovino had caught the drift. He was not amused, "I just had a shower. I'm not doing this now."

Growing impatient Antonio grabbed his partner's arm and licked the yogurt off his hand, slowly while staring him in the eye. Lovino gawked, his eyes were connected with Antonio's. The feel of the Spaniard's hot, wet tongue on his skin made him hot all over. The Italian gulped.

Not yet feeling complete, Antonio slid Lovino's thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip. He continued to watch Lovino's reaction, which he found rather entertaining. The Southern Italian was pink in the face and almost appeared to be breaking out into a light sweat.

Sucking the thumb one last time the emerald eyed brunette smirked, "Are you ready now Lovi? I know you've been waiting all week for me."

With his cheeks dyed a bright red Lovino stumbled out, "S-s-shut up…"

Antonio took Lovino's hand and kissed it before leading him back to his bedroom. The door had been left wide open making their entrance easy. Antonio stopped in front of the bed, placing Lovino between him and the rectangular object, "Okay, we can take our time building up to it, or just start. What would you like?"

Lovino blinked and stared at the wooden floor, "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

Antonio smiled sincerely, "I just want you to say my name."

The Italian looked up at with a heartfelt expression. "Antonio." he whispered.

The Spaniard grinned, "Works for me." He pushed Lovino onto the bed and climbed over top of him. Leaning his head down his kissed the lips of his lover while his hands crawled up the back of the young man beneath him. Antonio was grateful his lover was not wearing a shirt, it made the process that much easier and quicker. He proceeded to leave love bits along the neck and down the upper body.

"H-hey…" Lovino choked out as the Madrid native continued further down, "Don't leave me alone up here."

Scooting back up Antonio made his quick apology before drawing his partner into a long gratifying kiss. He carefully snuck his tongue in there massaging it against the other. Oh how wonderful his lover tasted! Antonio pulled away in search of something only slightly better. He went back to wiggling back down Lovino's body stopping on occasion to kiss or lick the skin, making it a rosy colour.

When he reached his focus point he paused momentarily to look up at the Italian. He didn't expect Lovino to say anything, and as he thought the Italian didn't, but he wanted to see the look in the brunette's eyes before he ravished the young man in unexplainable ecstasy.

From there Antonio went to work, rubbing the growing bulge under the Italian's black shorts. The Italians were said to be the second biggest in Europe, next to the French, and Lovino proved it true. Peeling back his heavy shorts Lovino's hard asset was released from its confinement. Antonio's gentle breath on it made Lovino shiver.

The Spaniard grabbed the shaft, looking up quickly to watch his lover flinch. Without notice or hesitation he dropped his head down and swallowed the dick whole.

"Ah, Antonio." Lovino hissed out.

The Madrid native popped back up, "Too soon?"

The Southern Italian lashed out, "What do you mean too soon, stupid? You just jumped on me. Yeah it's too soon!"

"Oh you're right," The Spaniard began moving his hand up and down the length, "I should make you beg for it."

"T-t-t-that's not…what I meant." Lovino was shaking at the rough touch. He had longed for this for several weeks, but would never…_could_ never…admit it to Antonio. The feel of his boyfriend's strong, sturdy hand gripping and tugging at his sensitive point made his heart convulse with need.

Antonio enjoyed all the small moans and quiet noises Lovino was trying to hide. After three years of being together he knew all the right moves and places that would make Lovino whimper and fall helplessly for him. Feeling the time was right he replaced his tugging with lengthy strides from his tongue up and down the shaft. Every once in a while he would churn his tongue around the tip.

After a series of lashes he took his lover in whole once again making Lovino call his name. Antonio continued to bob up and down his lover's size encouraged by the other man's pleas.

"N-no, stop…Antonio!" Lovino pushed the Spaniard off and sat up. He took a moment to gasp for air before looking his boyfriend dead in the eye, "I'm not going to let you put me in that spot, Antonio!"

The green eyed brunette wiped away a trickle of spit from his mouth and smirked, "Okay, we'll do this together then."

The Italian narrowed his eyes, "I get to be on top."

"That's fine." Antonio smiled standing up to pull his shirt and shorts off, "but I get to be inside."

"Ack! Antonio!" Lovino complained. He knew Antonio knew what he was talking about, but of course the Spaniard had to be witty and go over his head.

Completely undressed, Antonio opened his dresser drawer to pull out a small bottle of lubricant. As tough as Lovino acted he didn't think the Italian could take a raw pounding. He wouldn't want it that way anyway as his loving nature urged him to be gentle.

After lathering his own hardened cock he crawled back onto the bed and over Lovino.

"H-hey!" Lovino was more angry than shy, "You said I could be on top."

The Spaniard laughed, "Oh right, I did." To make the transition he laid on top of Lovino and rolled over taking the Italian with him. The flip put Lovino on top of Antonio who now lay straight on the bed. "You ready for me my _bonito tomate_?"

Holding onto his last nerve Lovino resisted telling Antonio that he had been waiting for him for several weeks. Instead he jibbed back, "Yeah right, the only one who's desperate is you."

Antonio grinned, "Well than…"

Again Antonio made the first move without warning. He grabbed Lovino's hips and directed himself inside the Italian.

Slightly annoyed, Lovino barked, "You're supposed to stretch first."

"Sorry," Antonio reached up and pulled his lover into a kiss, "I guess you're right, I am the desperate one."

The Southern Italian blushed, both from the embarrassment and the feeling of his partner inside him. For the first time since the start of their physical activity Lovino took action and bent down to kiss Antonio back. There was little point in arguing now – besides every second Antonio's cock sat inside him was another second he found himself feeling more and more aroused again.

Their hands rubbed against nearly every part of each other's body as their lower halves started to move in rhythm with each other. Loud gasps and noises were muffled in case neighbours were home, but small, quieter ones floated the room freely.

As the pressure built the need for release became strong. In an intense moment before the final peak Lovino cried out, "Please, please, please, please, fuck."

Hard gasps were exchanged as the relief of their discharge came. Lovino wriggled slightly uncomfortable on top of Antonio. The feel of a jet stream of cum up his ass had always been awkward to him. With a now soften dick still inside him he collapsed onto the man beneath him. The two lay there as their breathing regulated.

"Well," Antonio sighed after catching his breath, "That was well worth the wait."

The Italian would've made a comeback comment had he not been so worn out. Closing his eyes he began drifted off to sleep when a sudden persistent _bringing_ noise filled the apartment. He shot his eyes open again as he felt himself being moved over.

"Sorry Lovi," Antonio apologized, "But I really should get that."

The Italian took a heavy whiff of air through his nose and exhaled it. He was disappointed that the phone had ruined their after moment of peace. Who on earth was calling? Whoever it was they had bad timing. Cursing the caller he managed to drag himself out of bed, pull on his shorts, and wander to the kitchen. There he found Antonio chatting on the phone, still completely naked.

"You're coming to visit?" Antonio seemed both shocked and worried, "Oh, business you say. I see."

Lovino watched the conversation and took the opportunity to mouth "who is it?" when Antonio looked his way.

Pulling the phone down Antonio mouthed something back. Lovino did not need to guess. He knew who it was. Roderich. Roderich Edelstein.

* * *

End Notes: So…I hope everything went ok. This is the first time I've written a sex scene for a pairing other than USCan or FrUk. Let me know what you think (personally, I think it's corny and garbage…but you know us authors…we're always our own worst critic).

End Note 2: By the way...this is the ONLY sex scene in Arc One. ...Yes, there are several arcs planned. The second one will have more so please stay with me.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

A/N: Wow…I've got twenty-seven chapters planned out. This story, which I expected to never get past the first chapter, is now expected to be like…40 chapters or something. Geez… And here we are…chapter eight.

Also, last week when I posted Chapter Seven I had 184 reads and only ONE (yeah ONE) review. That's really disappointing. The review option allows you to tell me what you think of the story. It's a golden opportunity for you to tell me the kinds of things you'd like to see in this story or future stories from me and it allows me to know what the readers like about this story or ways I can improve. So please review.

* * *

"So this is Plaza Mayor?" Matthew remarked as he gazed at the prodigious view before him.

The place was stunning. An old stone building surrounded an inner courtyard filled with tourists speaking every language imaginable. Matthew studied the dozens of archways at the base of the massive building while Alfred wandered off. It was only when Matthew turned his attention away from the Spanish flag flying over one of the many sculpted shields that lay at various points between the painted facades, that he noticed the American reading a plaque under the bronze image of man riding a proud looking horse.

"What's that?" Matthew joined his travel companion.

"Well," Alfred started, not looking up from his read, "says here it's King Philip III. Constructed in 1616 by these two guys named Jean Boulogne and Pietro Tacca. Apparently it wasn't actually put in the square until 1848."

Matthew found Alfred's failed pronunciation of the sculptor's names amusing. He chuckled lightly to himself. From where he was standing, as the statue was in the centre of the plaza, he had a panoramic view of the entire site. It was still daytime so the two giant, iron light fixtures, one of either side of the statue, with four branches at the top, each fitting a glass case for a single light, would remain turned off.

Alfred pulled his attention away from the statue to grab a camera from his pocket. He originally intended on taking pictures with his iPhone but Matthew persuaded him to buy a disposable camera instead. "You'll eventually run out of space on your phone," he argued, "and besides, if you turn it on your dad might call you." Sighing, Alfred had agreed with him and they stopped to buy a cheap one sporting some strange bull picture with a Spanish logo.

Snapping a quick picture of the statue he made his way towards the main gate where two parallel pointed towers, each with a clock imbedded near the peak, rose above the plaza. He took a picture of that too. Glancing back a Matthew he asked, "Okay, so where's the inquisition stuff?"

"Well," Matthew pulled out a booklet Alfred had bought upon his request at the same shop they had purchased the camera, "There are displays inside."

Alfred frowned, "Aw, but I wanted to see the real thing."

The Canadian gawked at him, "You can't be serious. I sincerely hope you're joking."

The blonde broke out into a laugh, "Obviously." Looking at the rectangular building riddled with balconies he asked, "So which floor are we supposed to go to?"

"The fourth," Matthew answered.

"Oh…wait," Alfred looked at the structure and counted the floors. One, two, three…three…, "Dude! Are we going to the roof?"

Matthew couldn't help but laugh at Alfred's excitement. He gently rolled his eyes and said, "I was joking."

Al frowned feeling embarrassed, "Not cool, dude. Not cool."

Using the main entrance, one of nine, the two North American teens climbed the stairs to the second floor where they found a tourist information desk. After asking for directions to the exhibit they followed her directions down the hall and around the corner to a room marked "Inquisition". The doors were wide open displaying a mock setup, amongst other things, in relation to the Spanish Inquisition of the medieval and early modern era.

"Sweet!" Alfred burst in, his eyes wide and sparkling with excitement, "Check these torture weapons out, Mattie! Awesome!"

Matthew could feel the palms of his hands getting sweaty. He had never felt comfortable around any kind of weapon. The closest he'd ever gotten to one was his uncle's hunting rifle, a rather popular spring sport in the Canadian wild, which he hoped he'd never see again. Feeling uneasy he shuffled closer to the exuberant Alfred. He was so close his nose was nearly touching the American's neck.

Regardless of how close Matthew was Alfred didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't seem to care. He was too fixated on the tools of the trade the Grand Inquisitor would have used to torture those on trial. There were straps which would hold a person's wrists together while they were suspended in the air and weights to dislocate arms and legs and cloths that were stuffed into mouths and soaked in water, a type of waterboarding. The creepiest one was the _potro_, or the rack, where people were stretched out to the max.

Noticing a visible employee, at least Alfred figured he was an employee since he was minding some of the artefacts, the American called out to him, "Hey, where's the pointy stuff?" The man looked at him and blinked. Alfred groaned privately, "You no speak English?"

"Yes, English." The fifty-something year old man in a red bowtie responded.

"Where are all the swords and toenail-puller-outer things?" Matthew shook in grimace at Alfred's description.

"No." The man said as simply as possible, "There were none used."

Both Matthew and Alfred blinked in surprised. "I'm sorry," Matthew said, his voice was soft and quiet, "What do you mean?"

"Yeah!" Alfred echoed. He found it incomprehensible that there could be an inquisition without extreme torture. That was what he had always been taught. Inquisition = torture.

"There was torture," The man informed them, "But Spain was more liberal than other nations in their inquisitions."

"No way dude," Alfred wasn't buying it, "Seriously, where's the good stuff?"

"No good stuff," The gentleman with his brown gravel colour suit refuted, "The terrible torture of the Spanish Inquisition is a myth. There was a law in Spain that no blood could be drawn under torture, so no swords or nail clips. The highest percentage of people at a time that would have been burned for their crimes was around forty percent. That was at the beginning of the Inquisition before the 1530s. After that it dropped dramatically to about three percent."

"Oh wow," Matthew was infatuated with the historical facts, "Did the inquisition extend to their colonies too?"

"Yes," He answered, "There were offices set up in Sicily, Lima, Mexico City, present day Colombia…a few in Southern Italy too, I believe. By the late eighteenth century people were calling for the practice to be banned though it was not officially done until 1834."

Matthew nodded listening to every word. He was very impressed and his fear of all the torture instruments had long passed.

Alfred was less pleased. He had been hoping to hear stories of horror and cruel suffering and burning at the stake. He only bothered to listen in on the conversation when the employee discussed the ceremonies revolving around the burning of the accused but Alfred was disappointed to find the actual numbers over all were rather small. He wasn't necessarily in favour of inhumane behaviour – it's not like he lauded people for killing others, it was the mysticism behind it that was interesting. How simple their religious objective was and how people seemingly dumbed themselves down to achieve it. Compared to the people of today, Alfred thought, our ancestors looked like self-serving, arrogant, ignorant, prejudice barbarians. The low numbers of the executed and the lack of serious torture forced him to re-evaluate his perception of human history.

Grumbling, Alfred took a pencil he found lying on a wedge of one of the display cases and began poking Matthew with it, "Dude, dude, dude, dude, dude, dude,"

The Canadian tried to ignore it but the hypnotic, repetitive call was getting to him. He sharply turned and glared at the American, "What?"

"Can we go eat now? I'm starving."

Without realizing it the clock had seemingly sped up. It was now closing in on noontime. Matthew's stomach had finally caught up to him too. It growled showing displeasure at being empty.

Matthew sighed and turned to the informative employee, "Thank you so much for the history lesson. I learned a lot. My friend and I are going to get lunch now."

The employee twitched his mustache and nodded, "That sounds good. But be warned," He pressed, "many shops close between the hours of two and five. It's considered a general mealtime."

"I'll remember that. Thanks again." Matthew waved and turned on his heels. Alfred was already standing at the door waiting to leave. Matthew sensed he was unhappy with the display room creating the desire for an early departure. Pacing himself well he met up with Alfred at the opened doors and the two made their way back down to the plaza square.

)()()()(

A short distance outside the Plaza Mayor, Alfred and Matthew stumbled upon a small European café. Knowing how much Matthew had wanted to try coffee at one Al suggested they stop there to eat. Matthew was obliged.

There were four tables sitting outside the café sandwiched in between a long street of shops that were connected to one another. It was not surprising; everything in Europe felt cramped. Matthew and Alfred sat down at one and waited. After a few minutes of not being served Alfred poked his head in the door to see if anyone was there. The man at the bar apologized, saying he thought they were stopping temporarily as most tourists do, and hurried out with two menus. Tall, dark haired and handsome, he gave each of the boys a sheet covered in tight plastic and asked what they would like to drink.

"Some coffee, please." Matthew said with a polite smile.

"What kind?" The waiter asked.

"Uh…" Matthew was at a standstill, "What kind do you have?"

"There are different flavours like vanilla, toffee, hazelnut, or you can have cold coffee or espresso or a latte."

Matthew laughed, "You wouldn't happen to have a maple flavour, would you?"

The waiter raised his brow with an awkward smile, "N-no…we don't."

Matthew scrimmaged around his brain to think of an interesting flavour to ask for. He remembered being on vacation once in Cuba and having coconut milk. He discovered then that he liked the taste of coconut. He decided to ask if they had any.

"Actually yes," The waiter jotted a note on his pad, "We do. Would you like a cup?"

"Yes please." Matthew answered.

"Black?"

"No, double double, please."

The waiter looked at him and blinked. He was lost on Matthew's diction.

"Oh," Matthew blushed in embarrassment, "Sorry, two cream, two sugar."

Alfred looked across the table at Matthew looking for an explanation. Matthew gave him a quick one, "It's just something we do back home in Canada."

The American hummed and that was the end of it. Looking at the waiter he ordered himself a blood orange soda. He had never had one before and was excited to try it.

The server disappeared momentarily and returned with their drinks. Matthew and Alfred felt they both had had enough time to decide what they wanted to try. Matthew went with smoked fish and a side order of rice while Alfred ordered himself a small individual sized pizza with pepperoni, cheese, tomato sauce and mushrooms.

The waiter disappeared again giving the North Americans some time to map out their afternoon. Matthew pulled out the book Alfred had bought him about Old Madrid. Flipping through the pages he pointed out some places they could visit: Palacio Real – the Royal Palace, Real Academia de Bellas Artes – Royal Academy of Fine Art/Art Gallery, Museo del Jamon…

"Oh," Matthew stumbled on something enjoyable, "they have an outdoor book fair. It should be running now."

Alfred groaned, "Don't you have enough books?"

The other glared, "I have this one. That's it."

"What about the other one I bought? And the ones you have at home."

"But the first one is yours and my books at home are at home. Who knows when I'll see them again." Matthew reasoned.

The American sighed with great exaggeration, "Fine, but I still don't see the point."

Matthew switched the subject, making suggestions for other places to visit later. They had the whole day ahead of them after all. He asked Alfred if he had anything in mind.

"I do," Alfred said, "but not places. I was just thinking that…" how was he going to put this? Might as well be blunt, "you never finished your story."

The Canadian blinked in confusion, "What story?"

"You know, about your mom."

It suddenly came flooding back. The night Alfred visited him before they fled the country. He never answered Alfred's question of why his mother was depressed. He still wasn't sure he was ready too. He squirmed in his seat uncomfortably, carefully selecting the words in his head, "There…was a falling out between my parents. It left my mom shaken for some time. She did recover though."

"Then why the overdose?" Alfred seemed determined to get to the bottom of the case.

"I don't know," Matthew looked away. His reluctance to answer suggested he did, "Can we not talk about this?"

Alfred was disappointed but respectful of Matthew's wishes. They sat in silence until their food arrived. When it finally did after just over twenty minutes of waiting they eagerly began chowing down. Alfred ate quickly, devouring the pizza slices in huge bites. He finished before Matthew could even get to his rice. The American sat in silence eyeing the half eaten fish.

Noticing Alfred's stare Matthew asked, "Do you want to try it? The fish is really good."

Alfred was stunned, "Dude, you serious? I can have some?"

"Sure" Matthew nodded, "I doubt I'll finish it all. There's a lot of rice here and the fish is big."

The American was about to take a bite when he noticed he was void of a fork. He stared at the table around him, "Uh…"

"Oh," Matthew took notice, "I guess you'll have to use mine."

Alfred was stunned yet again. Was Matthew really willing to let him use his fork? This was unheard of in Alfred's family. Seeing the blonde's hesitation Matthew told him it was common in his household to share forks, "Well, I mean my family. Mom, dad, grandparents, you know. Arthur's not big on it though, he's Mr. Mind Your Table Manners."

Alfred was now shaking internally with excitement. He watched Matthew cut into the fish with the side of his fork. After the piece was broken off he plucked it off the plate with the metal utensil and reached across the table for Alfred. Gleefully Alfred leaned over and wrapped his mouth around the tip of the fork pulling the greyish pink smoked fish off.

His heart was leaping in his chest. He was just fed by Matthew. Matthew Bonnefoy-Cartier. The young man he was so utterly, undeniably…

"So," Matthew swallowed a bite of rice, "how's your pop?"

Alfred was shaken out of his personal heaven, "I'm sorry…what?"

"Your pop," The Canadian repeated, "How is it?"

"What?" Alfred asked again, raising a brow this time.

Matthew sighed and pointed to the Blood Orange drink, "That. How is it?"

"Oh, my soda. It's good. How's your coffee?"

"Very flavourful." Matthew answered. Alfred secretly hoped Matthew would offer him a sip but it did not come, "We should probably get going."

"Yeah," Alfred pulled out his debit card. Normally debit cards didn't work abroad; only in the country they were issued. However, his card was special. He applied early on for one of the special black debit cards that worked in all countries around the work – or all countries that took debit anyway. You had to be a _somebody_ to have one of those!

The waiter returned to check on them and inquire whether the wanted dessert. Alfred was tempted but Matthew was ready to leave. The American gave in and paid the bill inside using the debit machine while Matthew finished his coffee outside. Coming back out tucking the paper bill into his pocket Alfred signaled he was done and read to go.

)()()()()(

Matthew was light on his feet, looking almost like he was skipping. He bounced around from rack to rack, shelf to shelf as he pulled out books at the _Feria del Libro_.

The outdoor festival was located in Bourbon Madrid in a large park called _Parque del Retiro_. It was rather far from the café and Plaza Mayor which forced Matthew and Alfred to go by cab. The festival was large and contained thousands of books from a variety of bookstore owners who funded it. There were also book signings. Matthew saw no one in particular who he recognized. They were all Spanish authors anyway.

Alfred was less amused by the sight. It was crowded and full of books. He had attempted to ask someone where the American books were but only received puzzled looks. Grumpy and frustrated he crossed his arms and began searching for Matthew whom he'd lost several minutes ago. The Canadian had taken off in a squeal of delight leaving Alfred on his own.

Matthew found a section containing books in his native language, French. He flipped through a couple of pages of a children's book titled, _Le Petit Prince_ or The Little Prince. It made him smile as he stared at the pages filled with the image of a little blonde boy gazing at the stars. It was his favourite book as a child. His father, Francis, would read it to him every night. Reading in his head he mouthed the words of the fox, "On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."

_One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye._

Even though he already had a copy in English and French he felt compelled to buy it. After all, his copies were at home, a place he could not yet return to.

Glancing around Matthew looked for a cashier. He left the French section and headed into the circular centre of the set up. There he found a kiosk with three retailers cashing purchases. With a confident smile the Canadian marched over and proudly paid for his book.

Giving him a bashful smile the young auburn haired girl said in her broken English, "It's good book."

Matthew smiled back with grace, "It is a good book. My favourite."

Walking away it suddenly occurred to him that she had spoken English to him. He wondered why – how had she known what language he speaks? He shrugged it off figuring, since this was a tourist event; that the cashiers spoke English to everyone just to be on the safe side.

He was now on a mission to find Alfred. Matthew had been so caught up in the exciting atmosphere that he had taken off on his American companion. He concluded that Alfred must be wherever the English books were since he couldn't understand much of anything else.

Instead he found Alfred in the Spanish history section looking a children's picture book about the Inquisition.

Matthew approached quietly from behind and laughed, looking over the American's shoulder, "You're still fixated on the Inquisition?"

"Mattie!" Alfred turned around, "Dude, where were you? I couldn't find you anywhere."

Matthew smiled, "I was in the French section."

Alfred looked down and noticed the plastic bag in Matthew's hand, "What'd you buy?"

"Oh," Matthew followed his gaze, "Just a book. One of my favourites."

"Which book is that?"

The Canadian pulled out the book with the little blonde boy standing on a white cratered moon on the cover, "It's called The Little Prince. Have you ever read it?"

Alfred blinked, "Nope. Don't think so…"

Matthew frowned momentarily before a smile swept his face, "Maybe I'll read it to you one day then."

)()()()()(

Alfred was relieved to be away from the book festival. He didn't care much for reading. He did, however, like to draw, which was why the Royal Academy of Fine Art was next on their list of places to visit.

The Royal Academy for Fine Art was back in Old Madrid so Matthew and Alfred had to hail another cab to head back into the heart of the city.

The Romanesque building looked like an old mansion with a Spanish flag flying from the mini port covering the door. It was built with pale white, giant bricks with black iron balcony gates over the window. There was a gap on the forth level for guests to walk out onto, surrounded by two enclosed galleries.

Matthew and Alfred stood outside taking in the sight. Alfred, feeling cramped from the ride stretched his arms out inhaling deeply. Beside him Matthew was flipping through the pages of pamphlet regarding the art gallery. With his eyes focused on the text he said, "Says here Picasso is an alumni of this place."

Alfred looked at his partner, "What is that supposed to mean? He studied here?"

"Yeah," Matthew looked at him, "This place doubles up as an art museum and an art academy."

"Well," Alfred walked up the lone step to the door, "Maybe I should apply. I like drawing."

"Are you any good?" Matthew asked nonchalantly.

"Of course!" Alfred answered back with vigor, "I think I'm pretty darn good."

"I've never seen your work." Matthew joined him on the stair, "You wouldn't mind if I take a look one day?"

"Just as long as you promise something," The American grinned.

"What's that?" Matthew questioned with curiosity.

"No jealousy."

The Canadian raised a brow. Was Alfred seriously suggested that he would be jealous? Matthew was no artist and he was not afraid to admit it. His art came in the form of sport. He couldn't draw, but he could score a hockey goal in a million different elaborate ways. "Yeah," He said coolly, "You won't have to worry about that."

"Sweet." Al gave him a thumbs up. He then turned to the dark wood door and opened it, allowing Matthew to pass first.

The entry hall was breathtaking with its painted ceilings and gold lined panels. Mirrors were lined up on the walls on both sides stopping halfway down the wall for the soft pink couches spread around the room. The floor was chestnut red and so shiny Matthew was sure he could see his face in it. A sign on the wall directed them to another room.

The inside was magnificent with its high domed ceilings and clean white walls. More balconies graced the top of the hall and the room itself looked like a sculpted piece of art with its intricately carved grooves and figures. The rows of chairs gave the suggestion that it was an auditorium for speeches. Matthew and Alfred decided to pass this room and make their way towards the sign marked "Gallery" pointing to a hallway.

The Gallery halls were a lot narrower, with shorter ceilings. The entire hallway was pure white as to not distract the viewer's attention from the artwork. Paintings of peasants, fruit and Jesus were spread across the hallway. The gallery ended with a sculpted portrait of Medusa crying out while her serpent hair foiled out above her.

Coming out of the hallway there was a small circular area with a statue of a man proudly riding a trotting horse. Behind the statue was a small curved stairway.

"Maybe there's more up there?" Matthew wondered aloud as he started climbing. Alfred was close behind, holding the railing. All around the staircase were large, admirable paintings. Stopping to look at one that held a figure with a close resemblance to Napoleon, Matthew was reminded of his father. Francis would love it here. Matthew figured he must have gotten his lack of artistic talent from his mother's side because he father was a genius with any kind of drawing tool. When Matthew was little his father had painted a near replica of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ on his bedroom wall. Sadly, they had moved from that home shortly after it was completed.

Matthew looked at a painting of Jesus Christ surrounded by children by Giovanni Bellini. He looked at his pamphlet and frowned, "Most of the best work available in Spain is at the _Museo del Prado_."

"Then why'd you come here?" Alfred stared at a portrait of King Charles III of Spain. It was the lanky old King who'd commissioned the art gallery in 1744. When he looked to Matthew, the Canadian had a disappointed face, "It was Picasso, wasn't it?" Alfred crossed his arms and shook his head with a light smile, "Ah Picasso, the hearts you've broken."

Matthew frowned, "You don't know how right you really are."

Al looked up, feeling saddened by Matthew expression of sorrow. A motion stirred in the pit of his stomach urging him embrace the Canadian, but he held it back, "Why don't we try somewhere else then?"

"Well," Matthew thought about it, "I was also hoping to see the Royal Palace."

"Then let's go there!" He reached out and grabbed Matthew by the arm, "Let's go! …How do you say that in Spanish?"

"I dunno," Matthew gave a great smile as his arm was gripped, "But in French it's _Allons-y_!"

"Okay then" Alfred led the way back down the stairs, "Allons-y!"

)()()()()(

The sun in the sky was beginning to fade as Matthew and Alfred made their through the vast courtyard at the _Palacio Real_, or, the Royal Palace. It was a few streets over from the Plaza Mayor where they had been earlier. The majestic white building was a stunning combination of the Baroque and Classicist style of architecture with its roman archways and lid-level columns. Adorning the building were statues of saints and kings and classicist figures. There were also Aztec and Incan works to be found too. Standing under the centre door, guests were welcomed by the mighty figures of Visigoth kings, Reccared II and Liuva II surrounding the Spanish code of arms.

"Wow," Matthew breathed out in awe. It was a spectacular sight. Having grown up near old Montreal he was accustomed to early modern buildings and cobble streets, but nothing this spectacular. He blinked several times making sure what he was seeing was real. Despite his pleas as a child, his father never got around to taking him to Versailles in France, and even Paris was a rarity. His French grandmother lived in the countryside somewhere between Paris and the French-Swiss border. It had been awhile since he visited her so he could not visualize her exact location in his head.

"Yeah, it's great." Alfred said turning to Matthew, "But I bet it looks even better on the inside."

Matthew agreed and entered the main door, holding it for Alfred.

The American couldn't have been more correct! It was gorgeous! The rooms and hallways were plated in gold, greyish black and fine red. Their first destination in the grand building was all of this and more. It was the Royal Pharmacy, housing the king's medicine dating back to the sixteenth century with King Philip II.

Next was the exquisite Royal Chapel with its painted ceiling and golden arches. The gold and greyish blue mended wonderfully together reminding Matthew of Montreal's Basilica on St. Catherine's street. The piano on the far side was dressed with six golden candle holders with a statue of an angel in between a set of three. The grey marble pillars stood boldly around the room encompassing it into a circle. Alfred and Matthew were too busy looking at the sharply painted pictures at the height of the room to notice the red carpet underneath them.

Moving on they walked into the State Dining Room down the hall. Massive golden and crystal chandeliers hung from a low ceiling. Red and yellow curtains framed the tall windows that looked out to the garden with a white and yellow marble pillar sitting in between sets of two. Tall, narrow vases sat perched on ever windowsill each with a unique portrait painted on the front. The table was long, stretching the length of the room. It could easily seat thirty-five people on either side. The floor was a soft wood with a pattern consisting of woven X's inside of a dark brown box.

Alfred couldn't help but take the opportunity to guide Matthew to one of the plush yellow seats at the table and take his picture, making sure to capture the table's length. He smiled but added sadly, "I wish I could see how that turned out."

Matthew stood up, "We'll get it developed tomorrow. Do you have many pictures left?"

"Not really," He checked the dial to see the number, "I've got two."

Suddenly a well-kept gentleman walk in, "I am sorry" he said with his heavy Spanish accent, "But the Palacio is closing now."

"Oh really?" Alfred was shocked. He looked at his watch and sure enough it was edging towards 10pm. "Guess we'll have to finish our tour another time."

"Yes," The attendant said, "Please do come back soon."

Matthew and Alfred followed the employee back to the main entrance where they touched pavement. Walking up the street they kept an eye open for a phone booth to call for a cab. On the light poles were posters advertising lost pets and upcoming concerts for local bands. It was too dark for Matthew and Alfred to see what they said in detailed. They passed them barely stopping to look. Had they taken the time they would have noticed a paper taped to a metal pole pasted by Interpol in regards to a runaway boy. He was blonde with blue eyes and named Matthew.

Finding a booth Alfred called for a cab. As they waited for it something occurred to Matthew, "Um, Alfred, what are we going to tell the taxi when it gets here?"

"We'll just tell the driver to take us back to Antonio-oh, crap! We were supposed to find a hotel!"

Matthew nodded, "See? How can we go back?"

"Well…we did tell him we had to pick up our stuff."

"Yeah," The Canadian glanced up the street at the oncoming car lights, "but he's expecting us to have found a hotel. I hope he doesn't get mad."

The cab driver pulled up and opened the door for the boys. They both sat in the back during the long drive back to Antonio's apartment. When they returned to the narrow street outside the city they collected their few belongings and got out of the car. Alfred paid the driver and waved goodbye, watching momentarily as the white taxi sped off.

Matthew stared up at the window that was Antonio's on the fifth floor. Alfred could clearly see the worry on his face. He approached the Canadian and grabbed his hand, tangling their fingers together, "It'll be fine, Mattie."

Matthew looked at him and smiled, his blue eyes shimmering in the glow of the streetlight, "I hope you're right."

* * *

End Notes:

~I've got NO FLIPPIN' CLUE where the inquisition set up, if there is one, is displayed at the Plaza Mayor. I would've looked it up but lately [in terms of when I wrote this] I was hit by a virus (which my anti-virus luckily quarantined) so I'm a little reluctant to click onto sites I'm unsure of on the internet.

*Note: Not sure if you know the life of Pablo Picasso but many of the women in his life suffered emotionally because of him. His first lover died young, his first wife left because of an affair. His lover Marie-Thérèse Walter hanged herself four years after Picasso's death after waiting a lifetime to marry him in vain. His lover Dora Maar was emotionally shattered when Picasso left her for Françoise Gilot. Gilot found Picasso to be abusive which made her come to the decision that she should leave him – which she did. Picasso's "attack back" was marrying Jacqueline Roque disinheriting his and Gilot's two children. Roque would end up suffering too as she committed suicide by gunshot thirteen years after Picasso's death.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine:

A/N: And…we're coming along nicely. This chapter will mostly be an introduction chapter to Roderich and Elizabeta as well as more reflections of Matthew's past.

* * *

Matthew and Alfred climbed five floors to Antonio's apartment. Along the way Alfred complained bitterly about the elevator being out of service making sure to mention to his Spanish host that he should call a repairman.

When they reached Antonio's apartment, Matthew knocked on the door gently. It was a quarter to eleven and it was uncertain if the tenants were even awake. Luckily the lock clicked, the bolt was undone and the door swung open. On the other side was Antonio in a white t-shirt and plain red boxers.

"Oh guys," he stared at them, "Come back to get your stuff? It's packed in the living room."

Antonio's lack of excitement frightened the two North Americans as they braced themselves for the bad news. They watched him walk as a guide back towards the living room.

Lovino entered the room looking grumpy, "Yo! Antonio, who the hell is at the door? Don't they know it's fuckin' 11 o'clock at night!"

Alfred stood in the door and nudged Matthew, "Dude, they look totally unamused."

Matthew whispered back hastily, "Unamused isn't a word, Alfred."

The boys stood in the hallway and stared silently at Antonio and Lovino.

"Well?" Antonio looked at them, "You coming?"

"Um," Alfred started, but it was Matthew who broke the news, "I'm sorry Antonio. We were sightseeing all day and forgot to book a hotel."

The room fell silent. Antonio and Lovino stared at Matthew and Alfred, and the two North Americans stared back. It was so quiet the neighbour next door could be heard getting an item from his fridge and banging a body part into a solid object. His scream, what was assumed to be Spanish cursing, broke the tension in the Carriedo household.

Suddenly a huge grin broke out on Antonio's face. He threw his hands up in celebration, "That's great news!"

Alfred and Matthew blinked before exchanging glances. The Spaniard's reaction was not what they had been expecting. Making sure they were hearing him correctly Matthew asked, "Come again?"

"I said," Antonio restated, "That's great!"

"I...hate to ask but…" Matthew began. Before he could finish Alfred cut him off, "Why?"

"Because!" Antonio said still smiling away happily, "I got a phone call today from…a guy I know. He wants to come visit and is probably expecting to stay here."

"But then we're in the way." Matthew said with a frown.

"But that's good!" Antonio said with spirit. When he was met with confused expressions he explained, "You see I'm not overly fond of this guy who's coming. So, if you two stay here he'll have to find another place to stay."

"Oh," Matthew said blankly, but Alfred was more enthusiastic.

"Sweet, so we don't have to leave then. Good news for all of us." He turned to Matthew, "We don't have to move our stuff and Debbie can relax."

Antonio raised a brow, "Who's Debbie?"

Matthew sighed as Alfred left his side and made his way towards the living room, "His debit card."

"He named his debit card? Interesting." Antonio's eyebrow was still raised as he was trying to figure out why Alfred would do that.

"It's stupid." Lovino finally spoke, "Only living things should have names."

"Like your turtles?" Antonio poked his lover's tanned cheek with a sly grin.

"Don't touch my face!" Lovino jumped back fiercely.

"Okay, okay," The Spaniard threw his hands up and laughed. He pivoted and looked at Alfred who was shuffling around his stuff. "It's just after eleven guys so we should go to bed. I bet you two had a long day."

"We did," Matthew said with a smile. He pulled out the book he had bought and placed it on the round wooden side table, "There was a lot to see."

Antonio shrugged with an obvious ego, "Of course there was. We are in Spain."

While Matthew chatted away to Antonio about everything they had seen, including the cashier who spoke English, Alfred undressed himself. He removed his blue shirt then sat on the now pulled out couch bed to pull off his charcoal black jeans. When he was done he leaned across the bed, the tip of his head touching Matthew's back. Staring at the ceiling he wished Matthew would shut up so he could catch some sleep.

"Matthew," Alfred reached his arms up and around the Canadian's waist, "Let's go to bed, I'm exhausted."

"Really?" Matthew's blue eyes turned and look down at him, "I figured you'd be hungry."

As if on cue Alfred's stomach grumbled. The last time they had eaten was at lunch when Matthew had shared a bite of his fish with the American. The memory gave Alfred a wonderful shudder. "Yeah, we should get something quickly."

Antonio chuckled and pardoned himself to the kitchen. "You're in luck," He said as he returned, placing a plate with two wrapped burritos on the table, "I knew you two would be back, I just didn't know when so I went ahead and made you guys one just in case."

Alfred's mouth watered as he stared at the wrap overflowing with lettuce, tomato and chunks of chicken. He let go of Matthew and reached over for the plate. The action made Matthew frown and complain, "You only get one."

Placing the plate on the bed Alfred gave his partner a disappointed look, "I'm not trying to take your wrap, I just don't want to spill sauce on the sheets."

Matthew took a deep breath and conceded. He stretched out his hand and took the remaining burrito off the plate. Holding it tightly in his hands he took a bite. Delicious! He was so hungry he devoured the entire thing in less than two minutes.

After patting his stomach Alfred rolled over onto his front. He watched Antonio take the plate after dismissing Matthew's insistence, disappear into the kitchen and reappear only to travel through the room and into the attached hallway. The door to his room was visible from the angle Matthew and Alfred were at. He bid them a goodnight and entered his room closing the door behind him, but not before explaining that they would have to be up early to move their stuff into Lovino's room. Antonio wanted to give the full impression that all the living space was taken up.

Alfred, who was lying horizontally, moved himself to a vertical position tucking himself under the light, white covers. He watched, with much pleasure, Matthew taking off his red shirt and blue jeans. He laughed inwardly when the Canadian stopped, midway pulling down his pants, to blush at Alfred's stare. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. The uneasy expression on Matthew's face was a portend to his pulling on a white t-shirt over his nicely built torso.

The American moved back a bit to make room for Matthew to slide in beside him. The Canadian curled himself up under the blanket and fluffed his pillow before resting his soft, blond hair on it. Neatly positioned on his side, Matthew stared into the blue pools of Alfred's eyes. He smiled, "Good night, Alfred."

The blond opposite of him smiled back, whispering, "Good night Mattie."

)()()()()(

The rain poured heavily across the city of Montreal. Matthew sat at the window of his mother's downtown apartment watching the fat droplets hit the window. He looked down eighteen flights below him to see people scurrying around with wide-rimmed umbrellas. The damp smell of rain infiltrated the home, giving the place the unique aroma of a wet meadow. Huddled in his red sweater, the thirteen year old turned around to face the living room.

It was small, but cosy. The couch was a dark chocolate brown with a white cover draped across the top. A single light brown bear holding a red heart acted as an ornament. Across from the couch was a black entertainment set, with nothing but a small twelve inch colour television placed inside the main square cavity. In the cupboards underneath were all of Matthew's favourite DVDs and videotapes. The top, long rectangular space near the top housed a grey DVD/VHS player. Beside Matthew was an old brown rocking chair with wine-red cushions on the back and seat. The entire set up sat on top of a thick, plush French vanilla white carpet. The walls were white and, with the exception of a few portraits of Matthew and his mother and grandparents, were bare.

"Mathieu," His mother Élise gave a tsk as she entered the room from the kitchen, "You know you're not supposed to sit on the heater."

Matthew looked down and stared at the white iron bulk jumping out of the wall, he looked back to his mom and tried to justify himself, "I was just staring outside, maman."

"Yes, I know." She acknowledged, setting down a cup of hot apple cider with a green coaster on the black wooden coffee table, "But if you're not careful you'll end up burning your leg. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Okay, okay…" He got off and dragged himself to the couch. Reaching out for his cider he brought it to his lips and blew on it before taking a sip. Seeing the sparkling eagerness is his mother's eyes he smiled and complimented it, "It's really good, maman."

It had been six years since his mother had caught his father, Francis, cheating on him with Arthur. Since then the two men had continued seeing each other and, after a law was passed last year making same sex marriage legal, had decided to get married. Francis had invited his ex-wife to the wedding but she declined to attend. The divorce had been hard on Matthew. He was constantly being shuffled back and forth. For a while, about a year to two years after the separation, he had had to visit his mom in a mental institution after she attempted to hang herself from depression. Matthew cried all night in her arms begging her to never do it again. Even his father felt terrible and attempted to create some type of friendship for both his wife and Matthew's sake. It ended in failure – she shut him out completely.

Élise had managed to move on however. Some serious counselling and encouragement from her mother had helped her come to terms with her shattered life. Shortly after Matthew's tenth birthday she enrolled herself at one of the city's many colleges where she took secretarial courses. When his eleventh rolled around she was preparing to graduate with honours. Both Matthew and her mother attended the ceremony and applauded her as she walked the floor to receive her diploma. Shortly after she received a job as a book-keeper for a small downtown automobile business that sold used cars.

She was glad to be doing something with herself. Before she could finish her social science degree at McGill University Francis had swept her away on her feet. After they were married she discontinued working and had little experience outside of being a housewife.

"Aren't you going to have any?" Matthew asked. His mother was sitting politely on the sofa watching him enjoy his drink.

"_Non, merci_ _amour_." She answered him in her native tongue. She was content sitting there watching Matthew instead.

"So," The teen placed his empty mug on the table, "What did you want to do today, maman?"

"Well," She looked out the midsized window. It was still raining, "We can't go outside today, my dear. We could still go out though; we'll have to drive."

His mother's brown station wagon had worn down a few years ago and had been replaced with a blue Ford focus. Matthew liked the little car with leather seats. He wondered if she would still have it when he turned sixteen. He looked forward to the opportunity to drive it one day.

"Why don't we just stay in," Matthew grabbed the black converter on the table. He pointed it at the television, "The Montreal Allouettes are in Calgary playing the Stampeders. We can watch that."

Élise shrugged playfully, "Why not." Her brown hair was now longer and wavy. She wore golden hooped earrings and had a chunk of bangs off to one side. The weight she had lost during her depression years had started to come back and she looked healthy and well.

Matthew turned up the volume so the Canadian Football commentators could be heard. Getting into the game he barely noticed his maman picking up his mug and carrying it to the parallel kitchen to be cleaned. Despite having a dishwasher she insisted on washing by hand.

The rain was endless outside. As the fourth quarter of the game was coming to a close Matthew looked at his watch. It was just past ten at night. He had to be up early tomorrow to be picked up by his father. His weekend with his mom was coming to an abrupt end. Normally he would spend Friday evening, all Saturday and Sunday morning and afternoon with her but her boss had scheduled a mandatory staff meeting that she was required to be at on Sunday. He would have to say goodbye to her hours sooner than he had hoped to.

Hoping to get in as much time with her as possible he asked if she would like to play a quick game of monopoly. Hugging him she declined saying it was too late for him to be up.

"But maman," he argued, "all the boys my age stay up this late."

"Not you, Mathieu," She kissed him on the forehead, "Now go. Bed."

Grudgingly Matthew got up off the couch and turned left down the short hallway. His mother's apartment had two rooms. Hers and Matthew's. Sometimes his room would double up as a spare if she had guests during the week while he was away with Francis. He wondered what it would be like to live with his mother full time. He knew it would not be possible for a long time however. She had been denied full custody after she fell into depression. Her attempted suicide made things worse. The judge had felt it was a bad environment for Matthew. Matthew's opinion differed. He felt not being there was a bad environment for her.

He entered his room on the right, across from his mother's. The sheets were fresh since his mother had made the bed that day. She made the bed with new sheets every day Matthew was there. It was her way of trying to make a few short days feel like an extended week. Tossing off his cotton white shirt with the Montreal Canadiens logo into his blue laundry hamper he pulled down the comforter. He removed his blue jeans and discarded them along with his t-shirt. Pulling on a pair of blue checkered pajamas bottoms and a blue t-shirt he climbed into bed after flicking the light switch off.

Before he drifted off Élise came in to the room through the cracked door and ran her slender fingers through his soft hair, "Je t'aime, my baby, Je t'aime." She tucked him in then removed herself from the room, looking back once more, lovingly at her son.

There was no sun climbing into Matthew's room upon dawn since he had no window. The only thing there to wake him was his mother. She did so at 8:50am. Grumbling he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stirred himself out of bed. Slugging halfway down the hall he made his way to the bathroom where he had a quick shower and changed into fresh clothing. Returning to his room he packed his things while his mom made breakfast.

As he entered the kitchen his mom placed a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs on the plastic white table. Matthew pulled up a seat and thanked his mom for the meal before scarfing it down. As a young growing teen he was very hungry, very often. Almost as if on cue the doorbell rang as he finished up.

His mother sighed bitterly, "That must be your father. Go get your things Matthew."

The blonde took off down the hall while Élise opened the front door to her apartment. She was surprised to find Arthur standing there. And the surprise was not a good one. She bitterly loathed him for his part in the affair. He knew Francis was married and did nothing to stop his advances. She felt disrespected by him.

"Hello Élise." He said politely. His posture and tone hinted at how nervous he was to be standing face-to-face with her, "Francis wasn't able to make it so…I came instead."

"I don't have anything to say to you, Arthur." She responded dryly.

"Yes," he dropped his eyes to the floor. He was still ashamed over his involvement, "I supposed as much."

Matthew was back in a flash, "Hi Arthur." His red backpack was slung over his shoulder and a baseball cap of the same colour was perched on his head. His muscle shirt was also red and his knee length jersey material shorts were black.

"I'm ready to go." He said with a smile. Over the last year Matthew had started referring to Arthur as "dad" on occasion. At first the Brit felt awkward about it but gradually grew comfortable with it. Most of the time however, he was just Arthur. Matthew knew however, to never call Arthur 'dad' in front of his mother. It would break her heart. He knew how weak she was emotionally and didn't want to cause her more pain.

Walking down the hall on the reddish-purple carpet towards the elevators Matthew turned around and waved goodbye to his mom who watched from the doorway, "Bye maman! I'll see you next weekend!"

She said nothing. She just smiled.

)()()()()(

"Matthew," The Canadian wiggled in his bed, feeling the skin of his cheek being probed, "Matthew!"

Mumbling incoherent words Matthew's eyes opened. Staring back at him were the deep blue eyes of his travelling partner. Sitting up he murmured, "Alfred?"

"Yup," Alfred grinned at him, "It's me."

"What time is it?"

"Time to get up." The American responded with enthusiasm. He was already fully dressed, with his things packed into his suitcase, "Antonio wants us to start moving stuff around now."

Matthew looked at the bags on the ground. Alfred was already neatly packed, while Matthew's cloths from yesterday were still folded on the floor. Looking up at the American he blinked, "I'm…not sure what's happening."

"Well," Came a voice from the kitchen. It was Antonio bringing in a plate of over-easy eggs with toast, "Alfred got up first so he got first dibs and he chose the bedroom. That means you get the couch."

Matthew frowned, "That seems hardly fair."

Alfred shrugged, "But Mattie, you looked so cute and peaceful sleeping there. I figured you liked the couch."

The smug look on the American's face told Matthew a different story. Whether he liked it or not however, Alfred had beaten him to the punch. He took the plate as Antonio handed it to him and dipped his toast into the creamy yellow centre of the egg. He bit into it and chewed and swallowed before asking what he had to do.

"Well," Alfred jumped up, "What I'd like is for you to pack your stuff up."

"Why?" Matthew asked with a hint of sarcasm, "Am I being kicked out?"

"Not entirely," His blonde counterpart replied. He smiled brightly at the Canadian, "I want to share the bedroom with you."

"But won't that break the illusion?" Matthew asked after having a second bite.

"Not if they can't see it," Antonio sat on the end on the bed, "Well just leave your bag off to the side and tell them you're sleeping in the living room."

"But then what's the point in moving to the bedroom at all?" Matthew wondered out loud.

Alfred bounced his shoulders up again, "I dunno. A better place to sleep maybe?"

Feeling slightly irritated Matthew put down his plate and crossed his arms, "Well maybe I don't want to share a bedroom with you."

Frowning Alfred looked Matthew in the face, "Aw, don't say that Mattie. I want to share the room with you. Originally you were supposed to stay in the living room, but I wanted you with me."

"Why?"

"I dunno…because." Alfred answered the Canadian's lightning question.

Turning his attention back to the plate on his lap above the covers he said, "Well, we'll see."

"So anyway," Antonio raised his voice, reminding them of his presence, "Perhaps we can get moving now. Those two will be here shortly."

Two hours later, nearing eleven o'clock in the morning, the gang of four found their chat being interrupted by the ringing of a doorbell.

"Ugh," Lovino grumbled in a low voice, "They're here."

Antonio hesitated momentarily, but the second set of rings got him moving. He dragged himself towards the front door and opened it, "Roderich! How nice of you to come over!"

"Yes, yes," The fancily dressed young man waved the Spaniard aside, inviting himself in. He was followed by a young woman with long brown hair.

Roderich Edelstein was the same age as Antonio and the two had known each other for a fair length of time. Antonio had taken some college classes in Italy where he was roomed with Roderich, a native of Austria. The suite they shared housed five people – Antonio, Roderich, Lovino, Lovino's brother Feliciano and Ludwig, a German cousin of Roderich's.

The Austrian was slightly shorter than Antonio but it was hardly noticeable. He was very well dressed in a whitish-blue button up shirt, with the base tucked neatly into his dress pants. Since it was hot outside he did not bother to wear a jacket. His black hair was combed neatly, save for a strand of hair defiantly sticking out at the top. His glasses made him look both smart and sophisticated.

Taking off his dress shoes he waded into the apartment, watching where he stepped. His stare towards the ground gave the impression that he was worried the apartment was not clean and that his clear white socks were vulnerable to dirt in the carpet.

Behind him was the cheerful young woman. Antonio had met her before. Her name was Elizabeta Héderváry and she was Roderich's fiancée. She was outfitted in a sunshine yellow dress with a wide brimmed, white sunhat. She happily followed her fiancé into the Spaniard's living room without any sort of acknowledgement to Antonio. Her silver chain, covered in different shaped charms, made a clinging noise as she passed.

Roderich was standing in the living room when she joined him. He was staring at the couch deciding whether or not to sit down. It was obvious by now that he was, in his own way, snubbing Carriedo's home. Elizabeta suggested they sit down but he was hesitant. Finally Lovino pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against and muttered that he would get chairs from the kitchen.

When he returned he placed them down opposite of the couch, in front of the coffee table. Matthew had already been occupying one of the seats of the sofa, with Alfred sitting on the couch's bulky ledge beside him. Roderich looked at them both individually before taking his seat on the stiff wooden chair. Elizabeta sat down next to him.

"Well," Antonio had collected himself at the door and came in behind his guests, "I guess we're all here then." He crossed the room and sat down on the chesterfield next to Matthew. Lovino opted to go back to leaning against the corner of the wall at the bedroom hallway.

The room grew quiet momentarily as no one could think of anything to say. Antonio broke the silence for the second time by introducing his guests. Looking at Roderich he raised his hand to gesture to Matthew and Alfred, "These are my new friends, Matthew and Alfred. They're on vacation right now so I told them they could stay here." He added on for good measure, "This was long before I knew you were coming."

"Yes, of course," The Austrian spoke in his thick accent. He lowered his head and played with his glasses in a sophisticated way, hoping, it seemed, to show some irritation.

"Sorry man," Antonio shrugged, "I can't just kick them out, you know?"

Roderich gave an exasperated sigh loud enough to nearly drown out Elizabeta's question regarding where they would now stay. He looked at her, "A hotel. Which," he added just for good insult, "would be better suited to us."

Antonio twitched an eye, internally coaching himself to stay calm. During his first year of college when he chose to study in Italy, he had shared a dorm with Roderich. He was well tuned to what the Austrian's personality was like. He was snobbish, sombre and a nag. He knew less about Elizabeta.

"So," he changed the subject, "tell me more about yourself, Miss Héderváry."

"Oh," The brunette woman looked at her fiancé for approval. He nodded his head, not bothering to look at her, "Well, I'm from Hungary. I met Roderich while I was visiting my cousin in Germany."

Antonio raised an eye but Lovino asked the question, "Are you fucking kidding me? That potato bastard is your cousin too?"

Elizabeta was stunned by Lovino's language. Antonio apologized, "I think what my friend was trying to say-" He was cut off by a snarky noise coming from the back of Roderich's nose. Antonio looked at him, slightly aggravated.

"What?" The black haired Austrian cocked his head. He gave a wicked grin as he pushed up his glasses, "Everyone knows, Antonio. Lovino isn't just your friend. He's more than that."

Antonio bit his tongue before smiling, "Well aren't you clever, Roderich. And here I thought you were an easy man to fool." Score, Antonio! That'll teach the asshole to keep his mouth shut.

But Roderich wasn't done with him. He huffed a laugh nasally, "You're an easier man to fool for not noticing that everyone was already aware. Trying to hide something in plain sight…"

Antonio opened his mouth to reproach his guest but Lovino raised his voice, "Who cares! Just answer the question."

Roderich gave him a quiet but indignant stare as Elizabeta explained, "Yes, you see I'm a cousin of Ludwig's on his mother's side while Roderich is a cousin on his father's side. We're related only through the marriage of external family members. That's all."

It was a decent enough explanation though Alfred couldn't resist, "I bet it's going to be awkward at your wedding for your cousin though."

Roderich examined the American from his socks to the loose, out of place strand of hair at the top of his head. Despite the Austrian's elegant upbringing, being the son of a wealthy orchestra conductor, he was unable to hide his impressions of the young man. His narrowed brow and calculating eyes screamed that Alfred was culturally inferior.

Since he had taken the time to analyze the blond he thought he'd do the same for the other. The blue eyed boy in the green shirt looked vaguely familiar. "Where are you from again?" Roderich asked.

"Oh," Matthew looked into the sharp, purple eyes watching him, "I didn't say. I'm from Canada."

Roderich hummed. Where had he seen this boy before? He could've sworn…

"So," Antonio cut through his thoughts like a sharp knife, "What kind of business brings you here, Roderich?"

"The business of music as always," The Austrian crossed one leg over the other, "As you know my father is a well-known conductor and he's been asked to lead a symphony here in Spain."

"That doesn't explain why you're here." Lovino said rudely.

"I'm here," Roderich said, controlling the tempo and pitch of his voice, "because my father has accepted but is currently busy. He's left me to do the paperwork."

"Roderich is his personal assistant!" Elizabeta added with a brightened smile.

"Well isn't that nice." Antonio smiled back, though it was obvious he couldn't have cared less.

"Yes," the Austrian commented, "It _is_ nice to know that I have a future. The arts are still important and have actually been a growing appetite in places like China. With more experience I'm sure I will be able to book my own performance as a pianist."

"Oh wow," Matthew's eye lit up, "You play the piano? That's great."

Roderich nodded in acknowledgement to the Canadian before looking back at Antonio, "So tell me, Antonio, what kind of future do you have with maps?"

The Spaniard gritted his teeth, "Maps always need to be updated so –"

"…So you'll be doing small contract work."

Sensing the tension Elizabeta tugged at Roderich's shirt, "I think we should go find a hotel now. By the time we find an available room and book it it'll be lunch. After that we can check in."

"Maybe we should have lunch together." Matthew suggested, but a nudge and a look from Alfred told him that wasn't a good idea.

Roderich stood up and gave a single nod to the group before turning on his heel and leaving the living room into the hallway. Elizabeta followed his footsteps with a bounce.

Antonio, Matthew and Alfred followed them to the door to give a proper goodbye.

"Hopefully we'll see you again before you leave." Matthew said politely.

"By the way," Alfred said as Roderich had his foot out the door, "What are your names? You never told us."

Roderich looked in dead in the eye, "I figured Antonio had told you. It's Roderich. Roderich Edelstien. This is my fiancée Elizabeta Héderváry." She smiled at mentioning of her name.

Nothing more was said other than a quick "bye" from Antonio. The door closed behind the guests and the Spaniard was thankful for their departure.

* * *

Notes:  
~Same-sex marriage was made legal in Canada in 2005. Canada is the second nation, after Netherlands to legalize this type of union. To alleviate confusion from chapter five decriminalizing homosexuality and making it legal for two people of the same gender to marry are two different things. Canada decriminalized homosexuality in 1972.  
~The Montreal Allouettes and the Calgary Stampeders are part of the Canadian Football League. There are eight teams in total (for now…). The six others are: B.C. (British Columbia) Lions, Edmonton Eskimos, Saskatchewan Roughriders, Toronto Argonauts, Hamilton Tiger-Cats (My favourite team!) and the Winnipeg Blue Bombers. They play in the summer months because like hell would they be able to play in the snow. Most CFL stadiums are outdoor stadiums.

Read and Review PLEASE!


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten:

A/N: Ok so…so far I have about 27 chapters planned out but there will no doubt be more than that. Hopefully I don't lose interest. XD

A/N2: Roar! I've worked five nights in a row so far and still have one more to go...and then there's volunteering this weekend. Blagh! Anyway, because of my busy schedule I was going to postpone this chapter but I ended up not doing that. I was only able to edit the first half though...hopefully there aren't many mistakes in the second. Again, please "Read and Review!"

* * *

Francis sighed as he stood against the kitchen counter of his Montreal home. His slouched shoulders and wrinkled eyes showed he was tired and depressed. It had been several days since his son had gone missing without much of a word. When Matthew had screamed that he was leaving and slammed the door behind him Francis believed he was going to the field to kick a ball around or practice lacrosse to vent his frustration. He never imagined his son would fail to return that evening.

Arthur was sitting at the table with a cup of hot Orange Pekoe tea. He took a sip before glancing at an article on the backside of the newspaper, held up by his other hand. Without looking at Francis he said, "Stop brooding Francis, he's an adult."

"He's my son!" The Frenchman barked back.

The Englishman took a deep breath and looked at his husband. With a soft voice and sympathetic eyes he said, "We've contacted the police. That's really all we can do for now."

"We should be out there searching." Francis was now cooling down from his temporary boil.

"And we have been." Arthur reminded him, "We searched for four days. We need to take a break and let the police do their work."

"You don't think…" The blond Frenchman was too afraid to finish that thought. It was though if he said it out loud it would come true.

Arthur was puzzled, "Think what?"

Francis hesitated for a moment before taking a breath and blurting it out. "You don't think he's dead, do you?"

Had the situation not been so serious the Brit would have erupted into laughter. Matthew? Dead? Not likely. He was too smart to get involved with suspicious strangers and, despite his polite nature, was a relatively strong boy. He could easily overpower someone trying to kidnap him.

Seeing the look of despair on the Frenchman he answered, "No, I think he's fine. He should have called though. When he comes home I'll be sure to have a chat with him about common decency."

"Do you think she's right?" Francis asked, still staring lowly at the tiles beneath him, "Do you think he is mad at me?"

Arthur cursed internally. That damn woman and her insensitivity. Earlier that week, the day after Matthew had gone missing, Francis had begun to worry and made investigative calls to his son's friends and relatives. One of the first people he had thought to call was his ex-wife's mother, Charlotte.

The woman was average everything. Average height, average weight, average grandmother. Her dark grey hair was cropped short and she commonly wore studded purple earrings. She was a strong willed woman who had never really liked Francis. His dazzling personality and desperate need to charm was the first and major warning sign that something would go wrong in his relationship with her daughter. She had nearly boycotted the wedding when they planned to marry nearly a year and a half after they'd met.

When Francis contacted her about Matthew's disappearance her hard, bile voice chided him for driving her grandson away. Through the receiver she told him sternly that it was more than likely his fault for pushing Matthew over the edge. "Your selfishness broke the family and now you can't even keep this new household together. It's happening all over again. You'll kill that poor boy." She had said to him with aggression.

Francis had stood there, gloomy, listening to her belittle him for nearly forty minutes before Arthur grabbed the phone and hung it up. He wasn't going to let the nasty witch make things worse. This discouragement was the last thing Francis needed right now.

If there was one piece of credit Arthur did have to give her it was that she was a determined old lady who loved her grandson. In the last few days she'd lobbied the provincial government to put more resources into the search and had made several calls to missing persons agencies around the world, including Interpol. The downside was that she had made several threats in the past two days to convince Matthew to live with her. Legally, no one could force the now nineteen year old where to live. He was an adult. But the thought of Matthew being taken away scared his French father almost as much as his disappearance did.

Arthur would console him and tell him everything would work out fine. But in reality the race was on to find Matthew before his grandmother did. Just to be on the safe side.

Pushing his chair back the Englishman got up from the wooden table and carried his now empty tea cup to the sink behind Francis. He rinsed it out and went to put it in the dishwasher but the Frenchman was partially in the way. Trying not to sound annoyed he said, "You're going to have to move a bit, dear. I need to put this in the washer."

Whether Francis was ignoring him or was too zoned out to hear him, Arthur didn't know. But he didn't want to leave his cup in the sink. "Francis," he raised his voice slightly, "I need to put the cup in the dishwasher."

For the second time the Frenchman neglected to move causing Arthur to sporadically spit out, "For bloody sake!"

His elevated voice finally caught Francis's attention. The wavy blond looked at the Englishman, his eyes deep, muddied pools to nowhere. It was like he was caught in a trance. Completely stupefied.

Arthur sighed placing the cup on the counter behind them. He wrapped his arms around Francis and hugged him tightly. He'd never seen the man like this before. It was clear that Matthew meant the world to him.

Though Arthur couldn't see it, wrapped in a hug, he could feel Francis was replacing his frown with a smile, albeit a small one. He peeled himself off and stared into the lovely eyes of his French lover before placing a hand over his cheek and kissing him gently.

"We'll find him," He said reassuringly, "And bring him home."

)()()()()(

Roderich sat alone in small, quiet café. There was a red, plush covered booth seat travelling down the left side of the room. On the other side was a wooden counter where a few glass casings held small desserts like cupcakes and sweet squares. Behind the counter was a coffee machine, cappuccino maker and other devices a specialty café would have for European drinks. A blackboard listing all the beverages and snacks was hung just above.

He needed some space from his clingy fiancée and took the opportunity to have a drink and read the paper. Lifting his little white china mug to his lips he sipped on a mint latte, then he placed it back on the accompanying miniature saucer plate. His eyes sifted through the paper. He managed to find a German newsprint at a trans-European store. Inside were articles pertaining to Germany and the world.

He looked out the window, painted in green with the café's name and some of their specialty brews. He was almost directly in line with the window, having chosen one of small circular tables on the floor of the room surrounded by four wooden chairs. He hated to admit it but he felt slightly sorry for his earlier behaviour. Despite having been flat out rude to Antonio he really did see the Spaniard as a friend.

Since childhood Roderich had never been good at communicating. He had been taught to express his emotions with music instead of words. If he could have composed a piece to say how he felt about seeing Antonio again it would have said "you're annoying, too relaxed, and not as sophisticated as I am, but you're funny, considerate and try not to let things bother you. What I'm trying to say is, you're not that bad and I appreciate our friendship."

For Lovino it was similar. Roderich had instantly seen them, Lovino and his brother Feliciano, as troublesome little things that he would end up being responsible for. He worried their foolishness would shame the entire commons building. In the back of his mind however, he also thought fondly of them. Feliciano, or Feli as they pet named him, had a wonderful artistic ability and could cook like no other that he knew. Lovino was not as gifted, and had a terrible mouth, but he had a soft heart whose misfortunes created great (though kindly) laughter amongst those around him.

In addition to the two Italians and Spaniard, Roderich also shared the pad with his German cousin, Ludwig. The tall blond was strict and could be, in Roderich's opinion, rather wasteful. Not a day went by when Roderich wasn't lecturing Ludwig over something. How many things the German had thrown out that could have been reused was astounding. Roderich wasn't just a man of music; he was also in tune with the environment. Waste not, want not. However, with his strong sense of hygiene and cleanliness Ludwig was far from the worst…

He realized the group would have been more bearable had it not been for the constant prodding of Gilbert Beillschmidt. The, strangely, albino youth was the elder brother of Ludwig. Only god knows what he was studying…he was always all over the place. He and Antonio had created some kind of strange bond and were constantly pranking others. Serious students like Roderich and Ludwig often found themselves the victims of these jokes. He also whined and complained about issues (like no one answering his questionnaire chain mails) and often went into spontaneous rants on how "amazing" he was and how jealous everyone was of his superiority. Roderich could only roll his eyes. The Austrian loathed him. Had it not been for the fact that they were cousins and that Gilbert and Elizabeta had been close childhood friends (and cousins) he would have neglected to invite the self-proclaimed "Prussian" to his wedding.

Finishing his latte Roderich waved over the newly returned cashier and asked for his bill. She returned quickly and handed it to him. He paid cash, leaving a small tip.

Standing up he left the café behind and walked along a side street off the Gran Via. He and Elizabeta had found a comfortable old hotel near the _Museo Cerralbo_. They planned to visit the nineteenth century mansion turned museum sometime before the weekend. As he walked he noticed several flyers posted on a telephone pole. One in particular caught his eye. It was a poster calling for information on a missing boy from Canada. Matthew Cartier, 19, from Montreal; blond hair, blue eyes. Roderich was astounded, but refused to show it on the outside. He knew he had seen Matthew somewhere before! He was a runaway!

Taking a deep breath he pulled out his phone and dialed the number on the posted paper.

)()()()()(

"Geez," Alfred groaned taking a bite of his ham sandwich, "Who the hell was that guy…and where the hell did you get this amazing ham from?"

Antonio laughed, "The guy is Roderich; the ham is _Bellota de Oro_."

"Best ham I ever had," The American continued to munch away.

"Better be," The Spaniard smiled to him from across the table, "it was voted the best ham in the world in 2007 and 2010."

Matthew equally enjoyed the sandwich but was more concerned about the person the topic was focused on. He grimaced watching Alfred spit out his words while his mouth was full of food but soon took over the conversation, "How long have you known him?"

"A couple of years." Antonio answered, "Lovino knows him too. We lived in a dorm with him and his cousin, Ludwig, a few years back while studying in Italy. Lovino's brother was with us too and Ludwig's older brother."

"Damn potato bastard," Lovino mutter while leaning against the kitchen counter. He had a tall, cool glass of tomato juice in hand.

"Why does he seem so cold towards you?" Matthew looked heart wrenched for the Spaniard.

Antonio shrugged, "I dunno. I guess it's just our thing, you know?" The expression on Matthew's face begged for an explanation, "We actually get along fairly well. A couple of fights here and there, but for the most part we're good. Believe it or not but he actually invited the both of us to his wedding."

Alfred chugged down his glass of milk, "Seems kind of odd that he'd put so much effort into looking down on you if he actually likes you."

The brunette laughed, "Yeah, but I guess it's just his thing. He's not the best with people. I honestly have no clue why someone so bright and cheerful like Elizabeta would want to marry a grouch like him. But hey, maybe she saw what we did."

"And that is?" Alfred was confused. He didn't see anything special about Roderich.

"A quiet and caring person, who despite seeming irritated, will put himself forward to help a friend. He puts up a good front, acting like he despises us, but deep down he's a decent guy." Antonio ran his finger around the tip of his glass of water, reminiscing about the old days. The days when he and Gilbert would run around throwing water balloons at each other with Feliciano and Lovino while Ludwig yelled and Roderich played a Beethoven sonata on the piano. Those were the days…

A siren from outside snapped Antonio out of his daydream. At first there was only one, then two, three, and now four. Was there a building on fire? He raced to the living room window followed by Matthew, Alfred and Lovino. There was no fire truck, just police cars and two black vans. What was going on?

Squinting his eyes, Antonio made out the words on one of the black vans, "…Interpol? What are they doing here?"

Matthew suddenly went pale. Were they here for him? Maybe someone had reported them missing and the authorities were after them. Maybe Alfred's father was hunting them down. He was a rich and powerful man. He could easily get the police and government on his side, right? Looking at Alfred he said, his voice shaking, "Do you think…?" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I don't know." Alfred said, keeping himself tall and strong for Matthew, "But we don't have much time to find out. We should go."

Antonio was confused. Why would Interpol be chasing these two down? He asked the question.

"Because," Alfred answered quickly, "We ran away from home. We couldn't stand our shitty lives so we jumped on a plane and took off. Now it looks like our lives are catching up to us."

Antonio felt sympathetic. His own tumbling life had forced him to leave his beloved country to seek education elsewhere. It wasn't a problem with family that he was having but with himself. As a young man he was trying to create an identity but a solid piece of him was missing. He had tried in vain to woo girls from all over but, even though he often succeeded, he felt nothing for them. He felt there was something wrong with him. On a whim he went to Italy where he discovered why he was so empty. He discovered why none of those girls ever occupied his thoughts for more than long…

"Okay," The Spaniard said, "There's another staircase on the far side of the building, but you're really going to have to run. When you get to the bottom take the back door out. Lovino and I will try to hold them off." Turning to his Italian lover he said, "After we scare off Interpol phone Feli."

Alfred watched as Antonio scribbled something onto a paper and handed it to him. "Take this. Go to Venice in Italy. When you get there find Feliciano Vargas. He's a nice kid, he'll help you out."

"What about our things?" Matthew asked throwing on his shoes.

"Don't worry about that. You don't have time to. We'll send them if we can." Antonio hurried them out the door, "Now run!"

Matthew and Alfred booked it down the hallway with only their credit cards and identification in hand. They made it just around the corner as the police and Interpol came into the hall from the main stairs.

Antonio had spent the last few seconds rehearsing everything he was going to say in his mind. He hoped it would work. Quietly, he wished the two runaways well.

)()()()()(

Matthew and Alfred raced down the skinny stairs to the back door and out into a small grassy area for building residence. They rushed across and through a wooden gate onto a side street. Not wanting to waste time they ran towards the closest main street and hailed a cab.

The white vehicle with a red stripe stopped immediately beside them. Matthew tore open the back seat and Alfred climbed in the front. The blond American panted for a moment before giving the middle aged driver a smile, "To the airport please. And make it quick!"

The driver, whose name was Diego according to his flashy taxi license on the overhead visor, pulled away from the curb asking, "What's the rush?"

Before Alfred could open his mouth, Matthew blurted out, "We're late for our flight!"

"Y-yeah," Alfred played along, "Some relatives are…getting married tomorrow, so…we need to be on that flight!"

"It's very important." Matthew added, glancing out the window behind him for any trace of their hunters.

Noticing their lack of luggage the driver asked in broken English, "Your things. Where are your things?"

Matthew blinked, unsure of what to answer. It was Alfred's turn to come up with a quick response, "We mailed them." If it wouldn't have been so suspicious looking Matthew would have facepalmed himself. We mailed our cloths?

"Yes," Matthew said, "We sent in an order for our suits for their marriage. They want all the groom's men looking the same. Our order will be there to pick up when we get there. We're only staying the one day."

It was as good of a save as he could hope for. If Alfred had kept his mouth shut Matthew would've been able to put together a more plausible story. Liking having originally meant to go to Italy but accidentally getting off on a stopover in Spain and missing the continued flight, "Our luggage is in Italy, where we're supposed to be," he'd tell the driver.

Diego shrugged. He honestly didn't care as long as he got paid. Luckily, when he pulled up to the Barajas Airport he treated to a nice big tip along with the standard metre fee.

Matthew and Alfred scurried through the electronic sliding doors and into the main lobby area where a line of tellers were placing luggage backs onto a conveyer belt to be sorted for their flights. They were also checking tickets on the computer. The two North American jumped into the shortest line, 20 people long, and waited anxiously for their turn. They were pleasantly surprised when a new teller opened making the lines go faster.

Alfred swallowed his nerves as he pulled out his iPhone from his pocket. Matthew was equally nervous. He placed a cautious hand on Alfred's arm, "Are you sure that's a good idea? If you dad is the one who informed Interpol about us they might have a trace on your signal."

"Yeah," Alfred acknowledged, "but if we wait to book a flight in line it might be too late. Interpol might get here before we can even grab a seat. And what happens if there are no flights right now? We'd be missing valuable time to get out of here and come back when there is one."

Matthew hated to admit it but Alfred was right. Taking his hand off, he nodded, approval the daring move.

The American took a deep breath, rubbing his thumb over the 'on' button. It was now or never. He clicked it. The screen flashed white before displaying his screensaver. It was a picture of himself in front of a whale that he'd taken at Sea World two years ago while on vacation. All his apps were still in place alongside the basic function buttons that came with the phone. There were also dozens of unread messages – 143 of them. Alfred flipped through them. Most were from his father berating him for his stupidity. The last few tug at a heartstring. They were pleas from his mother to come home. Alfred couldn't help but admit that he did truly miss his mom.

"Well?" Matthew's questions brought him back, "Are there any flights soon?"

"Hang on," Alfred opened the internet tap and searched the airport's web database for flight information. "Well, it looks like there's one leaving in two hours."

"We can't wait two hours! We have to leave now!" Matthew was frantic.

"Haven't you ever flown?" Alfred poked at him, "This isn't like a bus terminal. Planes don't show up to shuttle people every ten minutes."

"Yeah, I know but –"

Alfred clicked another button and announced happily, "Hey, there are still some seats left. Oh, but they're all separate. We'll have to sit on our own."

Matthew frowned, "Basically, we're seat fillers."

"Would you rather we not get on the plane at all?"

Matthew crossed his arms. _Stupid Alfred_. "Yeah, yeah. We need to get on that plane."

"Okay, so, I'll book these two seats," He showed Matthew the floor plan on this phone. One seat, highlighted in blue was a window seat on the left side of the plane in the fourth row, the other, also in blue against the grey plan, was in the sixth row on the right side away from the window, "They're the closest together. Now all we have to do is check in."

Matthew continued to watch the door as the line moved forward. He exhaled a sigh of relief when they made it to the teller without the police or Interpol busting down the door. _Antonio and Lovino must be doing a good job holding them off._

The young woman, with crimpled brown hair found it odd that the two had no baggage and that their flight had been booked so suddenly but she waved them through. This time Matthew explained the story he had worked together in the cab about missing their flight to Italy on a stopover.

Matthew concluded that they should wait in the washroom until it was time to board the plane. Alfred was more reckless wanting to wander the Spanish shops. He left the bathroom behind after twenty minutes of standing around telling Matthew he was going to find a travel book on Italy. Matthew didn't know what the point was since it would be in Spanish but he let the American go with a warning, "If you get caught it's all over. I have no money so you'll have to tell them I'm here; otherwise I'll never get home."

Alfred laughed it off, "You'll be fine Mattie. If I get taken I'm not telling them where you are. Just run around all the shops when it's clear and look in all the pages of the Italy books. I'll hide Debbie in there for you."

"What if someone else fights it first?" Matthew asked.

"They don't know my pin!" Alfred smiled confidently.

"…I don't know your pin." Matthew said dead straight.

"Oh," Alfred stopped and blinked. Smiling he walked up to Matthew and seductively whispered the secret digits into his ear. The closeness of their bodies and the warms and smoothness of the American's voice made Matthew shiver inside. This was slightly out of his comfort range. At the same time he also felt a fire in his stomach. Fighting the urge to bite his lip he nodded, forgetting the irregularity of a now casual friend sharing his pin number with him. It was only when Alfred pushed through the door to the main lobby that Matthew could breathe again.

For the next hour Matthew paced back and forth waiting for Alfred to return. When the American came through the doors with a skip in his step it was fifteen minutes to boarding. "Hey Mattie," Alfred grinned, "I bought a bunch of magazines for us to read."

Matthew frowned, "It won't be a long flight Alfred. A half an hour maybe."

Alfred seemed disappointed, "Really? I thought it'd be longer than that."

"We're only flying to Italy," Matthew reminded him, "It's practically next door."

"Well anyway," the American shrugged, "They started boarding now so we should go."

"Did you see any police?"

"Yup," Alfred nodded, "Interpol too. Got stopped by one of them too. They thought I was you."

"So…" Matthew blinked, "They're after me then?"

"Yeah," Alfred answered, "It was your folks, not mine. Your gay parents called the cops, dude."

The Canadian sighed. Of course Alfred had to emphasize that his parents were gay. He gave Alfred an uneasy look, "So what about me then? How do I get to the flight without being noticed?"

"I bought you this!" Alfred handed him a blue poncho and brown wig. "The loading station isn't that far from here. If we move quickly with the crowd they might not even notice you. The lady checking tickets hasn't been spoken to about you yet – I know because I've been watching her. As long as the coast is clear it should be free sailing."

Matthew nodded and joined Al at the door. Alfred poked his head out to view the surrounding. The M lobby, where the flight to Venice was boarding was visible from where they stood. It would be a good three or four minute shuffle but if Matthew kept his head down and the wig on he should make it.

Placing the disguise on the two stepped out of the bathroom and merged themselves with a group of Italian tourists heading the same way. For good measure Alfred grabbed Matthew's hand and surprisingly felt it being squeezed. It made him even more confident that they'd make it.

When they reached the boarding lobby, they waited a few seconds as the redheaded lady ripped everyone's tickets and wished them a safe flight home. She tore Alfred's stub without a look but checked over Matthew carefully. It made both the North Americans nervous. Suddenly she said, "It's not raining outside."

Matthew laughed, "No, but it could be in Italy. It's always good to be prepared."

She shrugged and ripped his plane voucher letting him pass through.

Walking up the ramp they both gave silent sighs of relief. Boarding the plane they took their separate seats and when the aircraft took off without incident they felt free again. They had made it. For now.

END OF SPAIN ARC

* * *

Next Week: ITALY!

END NOTES:

~Best ham in the world? True Fact.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

A/N: Okay, so…Spain is now DONE! Time to move on to Italy! Feels refreshing doesn't it? Anyway, compared to the others this is a slightly shorter chapter.

Also, I didn't get much of a chance to edit this chapter. Sorry. Hopefully there are few mistakes.

Reviewers gets internet cookies! 3

* * *

"Okay, so, it should be just around the block from here." Alfred held the map up and stared at all the crisscrossed lines that were supposed to represent streets.

The flight had taken a lot longer than Matthew had anticipated. They spent just under an hour and a half in the air. He was thankful for the word cross booklet Alfred gave to him "just in case". When they arrived at the _San Nicol__ò_ airport on one of Venice's largest islands they were immediately met by the sight and smell of the pale blue Mediterranean Sea. Along the ledge of the water sat two story square houses in different pastel colours surrounded by lush gardens. Reminding him of the upper scale houses of The Bahamas it made Matthew smile.

If Matthew was the colour blue, Alfred was red. He was beyond frustrated as he searched for a cab. Stomping his foot he muttered out loud, "Where the hell do you find a damn taxi around here?"

His Canadian counterpart sifted through the travel book Alfred had bought in Spain. Once again he was surprised to find it in English. The book, he told Alfred, "says that there are no taxi's so we'll have to walk."

"Well," Alfred pointed towards the seaway, "In case you haven't noticed we're surrounded by water. So unless one of us gains the ability to walk on water we're not going anywhere. I don't know about you, but I don't look the slightest bit like Jesus."

Matthew kept quiet. Since the takeoff things had gone downhill for Alfred. He got stuck beside some overweight Italian grandmother that went on and on in her thick Venetian accent about how wonderful her grandchildren were. He was also fed a sandwich his stomach didn't agree with and when he complained about it the attendant just stuck her nose up at him.

"We can always take a boat." Matthew implanted the idea.

As they walked down the _Riviera San Nicol__ò_ they noticed the people living along the water in houses and small apartment buildings all had their own docks, but there was no commercial station for boat travel. Reaching the very end they entered a camping ground and asked the head office where they could catch a ride to the main islands.

"Oh," The thin Italian man said, "I can have one of my staff take you over if you'd like."

"That would be great." Matthew smiled.

Alfred pulled out his black debit card, "Hope you take credit. I'm all out of cash."

"Visa?"

"Debit," He responded making sure to add that it was the world platinum card. Intriguingly the Italian had heard of it, "Oh yes, we accept that."

So here they were around the block from the _Palazzo Grassi_, Venice's premier modern art museum. Crawling out of the boat Matthew thanked the old man who serviced them while Alfred gawked at the buildings. They appeared to be sitting right on top of the water.

"Yo Mattie," He pointed to the grand museum, "We should check that place out later."

"I'd like that," Matthew beamed, relieved to see Alfred's bad mood dissipating.

"Hey," The American added, standing beside a yellow bus, "Do you think they have any wicked night clubs here?"

"I don't know, Al." Matthew responded.

"Well," He shrugged, "Let's start walking."

Matthew pulled out a map in the travel book he'd been carrying. He passed it to Alfred instructing him to match up the address with the paper atlas. Alfred did this with some difficulty. When the two put their brains together to figure out where Feliciano lived they were off.

It was behind the Grassi, down the tight ally way, into a larger street section, across a bridge and down a single street beside a tiny canal lined with individual gondolas. Matthew was taken by the beauty of the city and hinted to Alfred that he'd like to take a gondola ride before they left.

When they found the address they were standing against a large, three story yellow building on a large canal. The water was thirty feet from one side to the other. Enough space for several gondolas to easily whisk by. It was a bright teal-like colour and even on the cloudiest of days one could see their reflection in it. Beside the building was a small grassy area with a picnic table and garden where the building's residence gathered for a fiesta once a month.

Matthew and Alfred entered the building. There was no security system to deal with or a concierge office to check into. There were also no elevators. Alfred was dismayed, "What is with these European countries and their lack of elevator service!"

"We'll just walk up." Matthew tried to encourage him.

Alfred complained with a grumble, "We've been walking for the past twenty minutes. I don't want to walk anymore."

"It's on the second floor, Alfred," The blond Canadian informed him, "It's not that far."

Alfred mumbled something inaudible as he dragged himself up the stairs. On the second floor there were four apartments. Feliciano's was the one facing the water. Reaching the door, Alfred knocked. A moment passed without a sound. He knocked again.

"Maybe he's not home." Matthew said. The opening of the door proved him wrong.

"Hello?" A light brown haired Italian with a curl stemming out of his head answered. One of his brown eyes was open, the other closed. He looked frail and timid, unsure of what to make of his unknown company.

"Um, yeah," Alfred started, "We're looking for Feliciano Vargas. We were sent by Antonio."

"Oh!" The young, skinny man opened his door wider, "Lovino told me. You're Alfred and Matthew." He looked to Matthew first, and Alfred second.

Matthew laughed, "It's the other way around. I'm Matthew, he's Alfred."

"Right, right." The Italian went from scared and cornered to cheerful and open, "_Scusi._"

Feliciano left the door open indicating them to follow him inside, "Hey Ludwig! They're here!"

The Italian apartment was a blend of classic and modern. Wide, wooden beams stretched across the ceiling while mosaic tiles swept across the floor. The living room was tucked in a walled corner with a white couch facing a matching white loveseat with a single iron coffee table in between. The display sat on a brown, square rug. The kitchen was diagonal and updated with the latest appliances. A double oven in the wall and a large refrigerator; with small machines and a toaster sitting along the back edge of the counter. Across from the kitchen was a small box area for a dining room table and beyond that a narrow hallway leading towards the bedrooms and bathroom.

Matthew liked the large windows along the dining room giving a picturesque view of the canal below. He asked in general, "I wonder what a place like this would cost."

"Nothing," Feliciano answered. Matthew stared in awe so he explained, "This apartment has been in my family for a long time. My grandfather, Augustus, left it to me and Lovino after he passed away two years ago."

"Oh, I see," Matthew frowned, feeling sorry for Feliciano's loss.

"Yeah," Feliciano looked soppy in his reflection of his grandfather, "He and Lovino were never really that close so Lovi had no problem giving the apartment to me. He said he'd rather live on his own anyway."

Alfred laughed, staring out at the water, "Yeah, that sounds like him."

Feliciano turned his attention his guests lack of luggage. Trying not to be too impolite he asked, "Where are your things?"

"Um," Matthew smiled unsure of how to answer, "Well, we had to leave in a hurry. We didn't have time to pack our things. Antonio said he'd send them if he could."

A large, buff figure came out from a room in the hallway. His blond hair was gelled back and he blinked upon facing Feliciano's company. Feliciano smiled when he saw him, "Oh! Ludwig! Our guests are here."

"Yes," He had a deep, German voice, "I can see that."

"This," Feliciano gestured to his roommate, "Is my friend Ludwig. We went to school together with Antonio and my brother Lovino."

The German nodded, "_Guten Tag_."

"Well," The boney Italian smiled, "Why don't you take a look around town while I get your room ready. I started earlier but got hungry so I made some pasta. Oh hey, do you want pasta? I love making pasta!"

Alfred and Matthew exchanged blinks as Feliciano's voice turned into a motor on full speed. He rambled on for a minute before noticing the uncomfortable, but kindly looks on his visitors' faces. Giving a nervous laugh he apologized, "I'll have some ready for when you return."

"That would be greatly appreciated." Matthew smiled softly.

"Yeah," Alfred added, "After that ridiculous sandwich I could use a real meal."

Matthew and Alfred led themselves back to the front door, which was still open, and exited the apartment. Feliciano poked his head out to give them one more piece of information, "By the way, everyone calls me Feli. You guys can too!" They thanked him for his informality and proceeded down the hall and back out into the street.

When they reached street level Alfred held out his hand for Matthew. The Canadian raised a brow not sure what to make of it, "What are you doing?"

"I want to hold your hand." Alfred grinned at him. He remembered the night they returned to Antonio's apartment after a day of sightseeing, having forgotten to book a hotel room for themselves. Matthew had been worried that Antonio would be upset with them and to comfort him Alfred held his hand and led him inside the apartment building. The warmth and tenderness of Matthew's hand made Alfred feel strong and dependable. He would take care of Matthew.

The Canadian shuffled his eyes around nervously, staring at the busy street. He took a deep breath before reaching out. "Fine," He agreed, "but if anyone asks, I'm blind and you're just guiding me around."

Alfred chuckled lightly and took the hand presented to him in his own. Their fingers intertwined and felt smooth and soft against each other. They stood silently for a moment before Alfred suggested with a tug, that they begin their "Italian adventure."

)()()()()(

"So," Ludwig leaned against the door frame as his Italian roommate dressed the beds with white linen sheets, "What exactly is going on again?"

"Well," Feli tucked the hanging edge of the sheet under the mattress, "Lovino didn't give me too much detail but he said that some visitors were staying with them and were being chased."

"Chased?"

"Yeah, by Interpol." The Italian took a second sheet and threw it on top of the first, redoing the same process over again, "Lovi told me they found the two at the airport and offered them a place at Antonio's apartment. They stayed there while Antonio and Lovino were being visited by Roderich."

"I see," The German nodded, his arms crossed across his broad chest, "I'm guessing Interpol found them."

"They did," Feliciano answered, "So Antonio sent them to us."

"But Interpol will continue to chase them. They'll end up here." Ludwig's facial expression showed concern.

Feliciano fluffed a giant pillow and placed it on the far side of the bed, "Maybe they will. When the day comes when Interpol finds them here we'll just send them on their way again."

Ludwig was not amused. He believed in civil order and doing the right thing. If Interpol is chasing these two boys, he thought to himself, they must be criminals. Clearing his throat he said, "Are you sure you want to help them? What if they're trouble?"

The Italian turned and looked at his German friend with quiet eyes, "Of course. If Lovino and Antonio say they're good people then surely they must be, Ludwig."

Ludwig was reluctant to agree. Antonio and Lovino were not the best judges of character. Antonio in particular was too relaxed and could be too open sometimes. Lovino was more careful but if stroked properly could be influenced by Antonio. He may not be trusting towards strangers but he trusted the Spaniard with his life. Sighing he said, "Regardless let's be careful. We should lock our bedroom doors tonight."

Feli wanted to argue the German's idea but seeing the stern look presented on his face he decided otherwise. "Well," he said, "If it will make you feel better than I guess we can."

"Good." The German responded, watching the Italian put the finishing touches on the single bed. He watched his mate cross the floor to the single bed on the other side of the room. Once there he proceeded to make that bed as well.

After Feliciano was finished making the beds he skipped happily into the kitchen. Ludwig followed him from behind. He observed the Italian bend down, open a bottom cupboard and sift through the collection of pots and pans looking for the appropriate vessel. When he found it he pulled it out and placed the large silver cooking ware onto the nearest burner on the stove.

Feli opened the top cupboard looking at the second ledge. It was loaded with different pasta types. There was linguini, bowties, penne, spaghetti, lasagna, macaroni and so much more. He stared at them in thought wondering which type the North Americans would prefer. After a moment's time he grabbed the spaghetti and placed the clear bag container on the counter.

The pot was filled three quarters of the way with water and left to boil on the stove. While waiting Feliciano got out another pot and filled it with meat to sizzle. He diced tomatoes and added tomato paste to the growing concoction. After the water had boiled he added the spaghetti pasta to be cooked.

Ludwig sat at the small kitchen table waiting for Feliciano to finish. He knew better than to get involved in the cooking process. He'd let the master chief do the work. His role came after during clean up. Ludwig liked a spotless home and relentlessly worked to keep it that way. It was never easy since his roommate was a klutz who loved to cook. He eyed the room for a vacant tea towel or cloth to use as soon as Feli was out of the way.

Feliciano looked at the clock as his meal was coming together. It was nearly 8pm. Darkness was starting to creep across the sky. Staring out beyond his window he hoped his guests would be back soon. He'd hate for them to eat their pasta cold. To distract himself he walked to the fridge to get out a block of cheese. He'd grate it to pass the time.

While his roommate set the dining table under a nicely lit chandelier, Ludwig began cleaning up. He scrubbed the sauce stains, wiped away water blotches and soaked the pans in the sink. When he was finished he stood back to inspect the job he'd done, carefully making sure he didn't miss a single speck. Hearing a sad hum from the dining room he left the kitchen to find Feliciano jabbing at the tomato sauce with a wooden spoon. "They'll be back soon." He told the Italian.

"I hope so," Feli looked at him with dejected eyes, "I'd hate for all this wonderful pasta to go to waste."

At that moment there was a light banging at the door. Feliciano jumped up and raced towards it, opening the door for who he thought was on the other side. As predicted it was Matthew and Alfred. "You guys!" The Italian was bright and cheerful, "We were waiting for you!"

"Not too long, I hope." Matthew stepped into the apartment with Alfred. They had been gone a good length of time.

When they had left they created an itinerary on the fly. The first thing on Alfred's list was to buy some new cloths – just in case Antonio found himself unable to send their belongings to Italy. Matthew felt bad and declined to have cloths bought for him. Alfred had already purchased nice shirts and pants for him back in Spain. He secretly wished he'd grabbed his duffle bag when he left. I wouldn't have been hard to carry. He secretly hated himself for it.

Alfred shook off Matthew's behest to not buy him any new articles of clothing and the two walked out of swanky Italian shops with a new wardrobe. The American insisted that he had cash to burn so it wasn't a big deal. He also offered to take Matthew to a salon to have his hair dyed in order to disassociate himself with the picture in the missing person poster. For Matthew however, that wasn't an option. He would keep his blond locks.

The sun was still up so they carried on, looking at famous land sights. Walking around the western edge of the San Marco neighbourhood, Matthew and Alfred found a variety of things to see. The neighbourhood was at the city's core and was filled with basilicas and public squares. They were too far, with little time, to walk to _Piazza San Marco_ but made note to visit it before they left. With it being so close they settled on seeing the _Palazzo Grassi_.

They had first encountered the majestic building when they arrived on the island earlier that evening. Walking the halls Matthew read a brochure aloud, "It was the last palace erected before the fall of Italy's Republic in the 18th century."

Alfred frowned looking at a painting by Francois Pinault, "Yeah, but most of this stuff is contemporary. Where's the Michelangelo? The Raphael? The Leonardo's and the Donatello's?"

Matthew blinked, momentarily astonished that the American could be affluent in his knowledge of Italian painters when the reality hit him, "Do you even know what they painted?"

"Not really," Alfred confessed, "But they must've been good if they had ninja turtles named after them."

Matthew sighed. It was just as he thought.

They didn't get around to doing much else that day. They stopped for some homemade gelato before returning to Feliciano's apartment, late admittedly.

And now, walking into the dining room, they were met with the thick smell of tomato sauce and the warmth of the heat coming off the spaghetti.

"Mmm," Matthew sat down opposite to the large glass windows, "Looks great, Feli."

"Oh thank you!" Feliciano fluttered to his seat like a happy princess fairy. He adored being praised, something he ill got from his stuffy roommate. There was a lot to compliment on for Feliciano. Not only was he a fantastic chief but he was also very artistic. Many of the sculptures and paintings adorning the apartment were all completed by him at one point or another in his life.

Together they sat at the table. Ludwig prepared to take the large blue silicone bowl to serve himself but had his hand slapped away by the Italian. "Luddy," Feli frowned, "Let our guests go first."

Ludwig hated when Feliciano called him that in front of others. It made him feel like a child's pet. He grunted without a word and passed the bowl to Matthew, next to him.

The Canadian politely received the pasta and used a three pronged fork to grab chunks of spaghetti. He plopped it on his plate and passed the dish to Alfred. The American took twice as much as Matthew before handing what was left to Feliciano to be split between him and Ludwig.

Seeing the large amount of long, stringy noodles on Alfred's plate, Feliciano wished he had made more. He shrugged it off and made a note to remember that he would need more next time. Placing a napkin in his lap and folding his hands on the table he prepared to pray. The action caught Alfred and Matthew off guard.

For Matthew it wasn't terribly unusually. When he was younger he used to pray at school, which was a designated Catholic school, and sometimes at home before special meals with his parents. He easily followed along with Feliciano as the Italian made the sign of the cross over his face and upper body. He couldn't help but smile inwardly, instantly knowing Feliciano was a fellow Catholic.

For Alfred it was much more difficult. He wasn't a stranger to the idea of prayer – some of his father's friends were evangelical Christians who were always blabbing away about Jesus. Alfred never really bothered to care. The problem was that he'd never seen this way of praying before. Some fancy dance with your hands. Wanting to fit in he tried to copy what Feliciano was doing with his right hand. _Okay, first tap your forehand, then…between your chest…okay one shoulder, now the other. Easy!_

Putting his hands together again, Feliciano began to recite a prayer in Italian. Matthew recognized it as the Holy Mary prayer. Some of the words were identifiable. Italian and French were both Romance Languages and somewhat similar in their base words. As the prayer ended Feliciano moved to make the same sign of the cross over him.

Alfred once again went to follow along when the image of saintly Matthew caught his attention. He smiled in serenity watching the Canadian draw the cross over himself. Not even the much adored Mother Theresa looked as pious as Matthew did in that moment. The act also frightened the American. How could he ever touch such radiance? He was caught in deep silence until Feliciano's cheerful voice brought him back to the present.

"…and you don't have to worry about the beds," the happy Italian explained to Matthew, "I like doing the chores. It's a good thing too since Ludwig hates a dirty house."

"You really don't have to do this for us." Matthew responded sincerely. He really appreciated the kindness his hosts were showing.

"It's ok!" Feli told him, "We like hosting people, right Ludwig?"

"Uh," The German was surprised to be suddenly dragged into the conversation, "I…guess."

"See! _Fantasico_!"

The conversation carried on, the subjects constantly changing. They talked about Venetian culture, about the controversy over the police, about restaurants and sights to visit. Alfred was rather bummed out when he found the only casino was on The Lido, the island had they arrived on. As darkness covered the sky the subject changed to bedtime.

"Sometimes," Feliciano said, "when I'm lonely at night I cuddle up to Ludwig in his bed. So if you hear someone walking around the apartment it's probably me."

To this Ludwig blushed and scolded the Italian for giving such private information out. "And quite frankly," He added, "I'd rather you didn't." Feliciano's eyes grew sad like a wounded puppy, "It's just…I'm trying to sleep. I don't need you bothering me at three in the morning."

In an unconscious blur Alfred said with a prideful grin, "Sometimes I watch Matthew sleep."

Matthew, mouth full of spaghetti, stared wide-eyed. He swallowed harshly before saying, "You what?"

"Uh," The consequence of what had been said hit Alfred like a bullet, "I mean…you know, in case you… have a heart attack."

"I'm nineteen and healthy, how would I get a heart attack?" The Canadian narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed.

"I don't know," Alfred crossed his arms and leaned into his chair. He nodded with fervor, "It could happen to anyone. You never know."

Matthew opened his open his lips to give a rebuttal when Feliciano jumped in, hoping to stop a possible table fight, "Who wants dessert? We have tiramisu cake; it originates just outside of Venice!"

"Oh, but this book I read said it's actually from Siena –" Matthew was cut off by Ludwig who embellished a hacking cough into his hand. Taking the Canadian's attention he whispered, "It's better to just humour him."

"Oh," Matthew was silenced.

Feli soon returned with a brown coffee cake surrounded by _savoiardi_, or ladyfingers. With a long, sharp knife he cut into it handing out big pieces to everyone at the table. Alfred happily thanked him and munched away while Matthew and Ludwig stared at the large portion they had been giving, wonder if they could manage to eat it all.

Matthew managed to finish his piece, while Ludwig only made it half way. Alfred offered to finish it off, but Ludwig declined, finding it creepy that the American was willing to share food with someone he barely knew.

Al shrugged this off and stood to stretch. Feliciano, feeling a bit tired himself, pointed out their room to Matthew and Alfred as he took the tray with the remaining cake back into the kitchen. Ludwig helped by carrying the remaining dishes. As he had been denied in Antonio's house, Matthew was once again shut out from helping. He was a guest, Feliciano reminded him, "and guests don't do housework."

After the table was cleared the group of four said their goodnights and made their way to their respective rooms. As promised, Feliciano locked his door. Ludwig also bolted his.

Matthew and Alfred were already settling into their rooms to notice their hosts' overprotectiveness. The two undressed with their backs turned to each other and slid into bed. Alfred was on the right side of the room and Matthew, the left. They each had a small bedside table with a lamp on it where they placed their small belongs. Alfred kissed "Debbie" before resting her for the night.

Matthew raised a brow, "You kiss it too?"

The American laughed, "Why not? After all the hard work she does for us?"

The Canadian shook his head in disbelief, "You really are a strange one, Alfred F. Jones."

"And you," Alfred complimented, "Really are an awesomely, wonderful thing, Matthew Bonnefoy-Cartier."

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Once again, please review! P'g loves getting reviews! Also thank you for all the "favourites" and "alerts". This story has more favs (40) and alerts (56) than any other story of mine! Wow!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

A/N: So I noticed my chapters don't have titles. Do you think they need them?  
A/N2: A chapter which I thought would be terribly short ended up being EXTREMELY long.

A/N3: Sorry if there are mistakes. Today is an EXTREMELY busy day to the point where I almost decided not to upload. My eyes are swirling...

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Matthew and Alfred casually came through the door to Feliciano's apartment. They had been out all morning exploring the city of Venice.

They had started off early with a gondola ride, something Matthew desperately wanted to try. It was soothing and, strangely, romantic. Not that Matthew had romantic feelings for Alfred, that would just be awkward. The way Alfred had stared at him caused some discomfort from time to time. The American seemed to have two impressionable looks. In movie terms he was half in Casablanca and half in The Twilight Zone. He stared at Matthew like he was mesmerized by him. Matthew tried to keep his mind off of it by pointing out various buildings along the way. The distractions worked and Alfred started to become more interesting in the sightings than in the Canadian.

A short distance later, though the real time was unknown, hindered by the pair's fascination with Venice's architecture, they reached the Piazza San Marco. The public square was surrounded by old box shaped buildings and a white Moroccan-like mini-palace, with a tall, spire belfry in the centre-right.

Looking around, Alfred figured the piazza was three or four times larger than a football field. The building at the end that looked like a palace, he overheard from a tourist nearby, was actually the Basilica San Marco. He pointed it out to Matthew, who, as a Catholic, might enjoy seeing it from the inside. To his delight Matthew agreed.

The walls inside were painted silver and gold, with ceilings that reached high up. The upper half of the grand room had domed cubbyhole rooms, also lined in gold. There were images of angels, saints and Christ etched in every corner of the many rooms. Bronzed and golden marble pillars held up the second floor with half circle connections between each one. The display travelled from the back of the great room to the front.

Alfred ushered over to a golden standout tablet depicting the signs of the cross in a medieval art style. He turned around to point it out to Matthew, but fell short of words. His companion was sitting in one of the bland rows of basic wooden pews set out for visitors to sit in. He looked like he was in prayer, or at least in deep thought.

The American shrugged, passing it off for 'a Catholic thing'. When he noticed a passing priest he flagged the old Italian down. He was hoping to get some answers to the questions he had so he could show off his 'knowledge' to Matthew.

"Hey buddy," he waved to the elderly man in black with a red skull cap on. The priest blinked and waved him off saying, "No Inglese."

Alfred was annoyed. Was this old fart telling him to get lost? "Hey!" he shouted but stopped when a firm hand was placed on his shoulder. Turning around another old man, this one without a cap but a long chain necklace with a cross, apologized, "Father Bertanelli does not speak English. How can I be of service to you, friend?"

"Oh," Alfred felt a little embarrassed for his misreading of the situation, "I just wanted to ask some questions."

"Ask away…"

Staring at the white, marble alter, decorated with two three pronged candle holders and flowers, Matthew felt the sudden urge to find a priest and engage in confession. "Holy Father," He'd say, tucked away in the tight confessional booth, "It has been far too many months to count since my last confession." He'd tell the priest of his constant mixed emotions for his father, he'd confess to living in a house that goes against the teachings of the church, he'd confess to leaving without telling anyone, he'd confess to blindly trusting Alfred. But he would not regret it. He'd say the assigned prayers of the rosary and carry on as always. Only this time he'd have less stress on his shoulders.

Matthew had never understood the point of telling a priest his deepest secrets, his sins. Couldn't one just privately confess to the Lord? Growing up he always felt that confession was a priest's way of being nosey. "It's none of his business," he argued to his mom one time. Besides, Matthew thought, what if he judges me? What if he's prejudice? But sitting here now, Matthew understood why his religion had confession. It was there simply for the sake of having someone to talk to. It was there simply for the sake of getting those fears and feelings bottled up in side off your chest. It was there to receive a kind word when you needed it the most. It was there to remind you that no matter how bad you are, God forgives.

Feeling overwhelmed with his past, once again, catching up with him he stood up and set off to find Alfred. When he did find the American he was waving goodbye to a friendly looking priest. He wandered over wondering what the two had been chatting about.

"Ah," Alfred said, "I just asked him to explain the pictures." He pointed to the display showing the signs of the cross. He frowned at Matthew, "It's really kind of sad. I did, admittedly, laugh when Jesus fell down the last time but that's because I imagined him having crazy, lazy legs." He chuckled remembering the comical scene in his head of Jesus as a klutz, always falling over. When he saw Matthew frowning, unimpressed, he straightened up. "But overall, it's just sad what happened."

Matthew said nothing, changing his longing glance towards the door. He stared at the open gates where tourists and regulars were parading in and out. Sighing he said, "Let's go."

"O-okay…" Alfred was taken back. He was surprised at how sad Matthew looked to be here. He thought the Canadian would be more at peace. Instead he looked sombre. Alfred, too, was now disappointed. He wanted to show off to Matthew what he had learned from the priest and have Matthew adulate him.

They left the basilica and re-entered the square. The Museo Civico Coccer was directly on the other side of the San Marco Piazza. Along the way the two peeked into the Café Florian, the oldest active café in Italy. A re-enactment group was inside, dressed as early modern Italian aristocracy members from the early eighteenth century. Matthew hinted he might want to try their famous cappuccino before leaving for Feliciano's.

They were told at the door that they would have to pay a fee to enter for the performing band. It was six euro a head. The Canadian counted the musicians as Alfred asked about coffee prices. There was one pianist, one violinist and two flute players. Wow, he thought, that's twenty-four euro already. Plus the added ten euro for a cup of cappuccino and the price jumped to forty-four euro. Calculating in his head he figured that to be around fifty-four dollars Canadian. With the U.S. dollar close to par with his own the American price would be about the same.

Carrying on they entered the museum. It was attached to the buildings on either side of it, which formed a square trap around the piazza. The building, according to the plaque inside, was called the Napoleonic Wing. When they had first entered the plaza they had passed a tourist booth where they bought passes to the city's museums. It included not just the Correr, but also Doge's Palace, also in San Marco's along with the Museo Archeologico Nazionale and the Monumental Rooms of the Biblioteca Marciana.

The tour started with the lobby, before transferring to the Napoleonic Gallery, dressed with paintings from Antonio Canova. His artwork was also themed in the Ballroom, Banquet Hall and Throne Room. The first floor, where these rooms were located, was an ode to life during the Venetian Republic. The rooms were grand. Some were painting in silver, gold and a light pink. The floor of the ballroom had a checkered pattern and mini, Greek looking pillars to hold up flower vases. After being dazzled by the old rooms, which looked as though they'd fit perfectly into the Versailles Palace, Alfred and Matthew climbed to the second floor to view the art exhibit.

The rooms were numbered starting with six. It contained artwork from Italian painters like Andrea Michieli, Michele Giambono and Cesare Vecellio depicting the fall of the Venetian Republic. Room Seven repeated the theme while Room Eight housed a library collection of old documents. If his Italian were better, Matthew would've stopped to read each one. Some of the documents went as far back as the early sixteenth century. It was exciting to the young Canadian. Alfred was not as amused and pressed for them to continue. Room Nine and Ten feature portraits of Republic of Venice officials as well as chartered maps from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Alfred was more interested in the old topographic instruments.

"Man," He said glancing over to the sizable map on the wall, detailing the Mediterranean Sea, "I bet Antonio would have a field day here."

After quickly reading a description on one of the portraits Matthew told him, "He's probably already been here. He did live here for a short while, remember?"

Alfred said nothing. He had forgotten; he didn't care. He left the room behind, leading into the next exhibit. It was a large coin collection. Matthew smiled looking at the silver circles. He commented on how much larger it was than the old Roman coin collection his university had.

When they reached the nineteenth room they thought their venture through the large museum was over, but they were mistaken. The last "room" was actually two floors. The first floor housed four rooms with bronze statues while the second floor made up nineteen rooms housing Venetian paintings pre-dating the sixteenth century.

Alfred and Matthew were exhausted by the time they made it through the entire building. Too exhausted for Café Florian. They'd be sure to visit it next time. It was already late and they had plans made for the afternoon. They jumped on a taxi _acquei_, or water taxi, and made their way back to Feliciano's.

And now they were back for a late lunch. Feliciano, ever the pasta enthusiast, insisted on staying home to make them lasagna from scratch. It was traditionally made with cottage cheese, meat sauce, and chunks of tomatoes and onions wedged in between layers of rectangular pasta. He sprinkled some chives on for flavour.

While at home Feliciano also collected the mail. The mailman had come earlier than expected with two postcards that were equally unexpected. The first one was addressed to him from Antonio, and the other was to Matthew and Alfred, also from Antonio. The postcard meant for Feli's guests was cheerful. It asked how they were and how they liked Venice. It made no mentioning at all of their clothing. The answer to that question was on Feliciano's card.

Antonio's message to Feli was much more urgent. He warned the Italian that Interpol had looked at the flight records and found a match with Alfred's credit card. They were on their way to Italy. He requested that Feliciano send the two travellers to Germany where he'd sent their belongings. Once there they would be hooked up with Ludwig's brother, Gilbert.

Feliciano frowned. He was just getting to know these boys and now they had to leave. He was disappointed. He held off giving Alfred and Matthew the postcard until after they'd enjoyed their lunch.

"Ooh," Alfred took the square with a bullfighter on the front in hand, "A postcard from Antonio."

"How is he?" Matthew asked, sitting on the white sofa in the boxed living room.

"Good," The American sat down across from him on the loveseat. "He wants to know what we think of Venice."

It had only been a full day since their departure from Spain but Matthew already missed the laid back Spaniard. He smiled fondly, "We'll have to write back to him and tell him how beautiful it is."

"He probably already knows, Matthew." Alfred told him, crossing one leg over the other, "he's been here before, remember?"

"Oh, that rights." The Canadian remarked. How could he have forgotten? Especially after he had mentioned it earlier too, "He went to school here a few years ago." He was slightly disheartened, wanting to share the sights he'd seen with his new friend.

"Well," Alfred said, seeing Matthew's saddened look, "You can always tell him what _you_ thought about the things you saw."

Matthew nodded quietly. After a moment of silence was exchanged he excused himself from the living room, explaining he needed a glass of water. Alfred answered with a simple, "'Kay."

As he watched Matthew walk away his eyes traced over the Canadian's figure. He entangled himself in Matthew's golden, godlike hair. He secretly swoon at the young man's firm back, he fought back a smile checking out his ass.

Oh Matthew, he thought to himself, maybe Antonio was right about you.

)()()()()(

YESTERDAY

Alfred stared at the clock. It was 7:17 am and he was hungry. He had left the comfort of bed, and Matthew, to sit at the kitchen table and stare at the refrigerator. He quietly chanted for someone, preferably Antonio, to wake up and feed him. After a long draw out luck finally took his side and at 7:33 am Antonio entered the kitchen in his black bedtime t-shirt and red pajama bottoms.

"Oh, whoa, Alfred." He was startled by the American, "What are you doing up so early?"

"Hungry." Was Al's only response.

"I…see." Antonio blinked. Alfred looked like a zombie crossed over with a dying robot. His head was dropped on the table staring sluggishly at the fridge, jaw partially open. Antonio would be lying if he said it didn't freak him out a little bit.

The Spaniard opened the door to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. "Scrambled?" He asked to the general air, though Alfred knew the question was meant for him.

"Yes please," Suddenly there was life in the American again. He was now sitting straight up and attentively. The sudden change made Antonio laugh.

"So," The Spaniard cracked an egg over the frying pan he'd dished out from a bottom cupboard, "How long have you and Matthew known each other?"

"Just a couple of days, really." Alfred answered meekly.

"Really?" Antonio questioned with a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Yeah, I saw him playing lacrosse about a week ago," Alfred explained.

Antonio turned around, letting the egg sizzle in the skillet. "Then why travel the world together like this if you barely know each other?"

"I don't know," Alfred shrugged, "Matthew just seems like the kind of guy you can trust. There's something about him. Besides, I feel bad for him too. He puts up with a lot of crap and his mom committed suicide so I thought he could use the break, you know?"

"That sucks," Antonio secretly wondered if Matthew was okay with Alfred telling him all the Canadian's secrets. But he knew there was more, "That doesn't fully explain why you'd pay for this guy to travel the world with you."

Alfred shrugged. He really didn't have an answer. He just knew he liked Matthew. The Canadian was sweet and kind, just the kind of person he wanted to associate himself with. Someone who would listen and could offer solid advice without trying to kiss his ass. He enjoyed having Matthew by his side. He'd had several dreams since they met about Matthew being his personal assistant and the two doing everything together. God, he thought, am I obsessed with him?

Antonio read Alfred perfectly. He knew how the American felt. Once upon a time he had gone to university in search of himself and found he was enraptured by a begrudgingly rude Italian. He found himself questioning what he was thinking. He found himself challenging his own beliefs. He found he was in love. Not too sure how the American would take his hypothesis he carried on casually, hoping the truth was surface itself gently.

"What do you think of him now that you know him better?" He asked.

"Mattie's great!"

"Mattie?" Antonio raised a brow. They were already getting into nicknames? It had taken Antonio nearly three months before he'd gotten the courage to try out a pet name on Lovino.

"Yeah," Alfred answered, "It's just a shorty for his name."

"Oh, I get it," The Spaniard nodded and smiled. He carried on with his secret interrogation, "What if he decides to go home one day? Surely he's got family to return to and stuff to do. You said he played lacrosse right?"

"Yeah, he does." Alfred answered hesitantly, "He's supposed to be playing now but he ditched. I think. I don't know, I'd feel pretty bummed if he left me."

Antonio turned his attention back to the eggs, taking a wooden stir stick and scrambling the eggs. He grabbed out the coffee machine to start a brew. While tilting the coffee can and pouring the white, cupcake tinned filter with brown grained coffee he said, "You guys have to pick up your stuff today, you know. Roderich is coming over. One of you guys can have Lovino's room."

"Sweet!" Alfred grinned, "I call shotgun!"

"What?" Antonio whirled around and looked at him.

"Shotgun," Alfred said, "It means I get first dibs."

"Oh," The Spaniard was not familiar with that saying. Coming from an American it sounded slightly threatening. America was, after all, known for its gun violence.

"But," Alfred continued, "I don't think I'm going to actually stay in there. I'll just put my stuff in there to make it look like I'm staying there."

"Really?" Antonio asked, "Why? You can have a whole bed to yourself."

The American didn't pause to answer, "Yeah, but I like sharing a bed with Mattie. He's all warm and cuddly. It's kind of cute. He just looks so peaceful; makes me think everything will be alright."

Antonio chuckled, "You really have a fascination with Matthew, don't you?"

Al was now confused, "What do you mean?"

"I hope you're not offended but," he said, unsure of whether or not saying it was the right thing to do, "I think you might, I don't know, have a thing for Matthew."

"What kind of thing?" Alfred was oblivious.

Antonio sighed. Why couldn't this dumb American see it? It was becoming obvious. "You're in love with him."

"What!?" Alfred could not believe what he was hearing. In love!? "No way, that can't be right. I mean yeah, I want to be near him and yeah, it did scare me and sadden me to think he wouldn't come, but that's not love. That can't be love!"

The Spaniard shrugged, "It doesn't happen overnight, if that's what you're thinking."

Near silence took over the kitchen, with only the light sizzling noise of the eggs and buzzing of the coffee machine to distract their minds. Antonio took the finished eggs and placed them on a plate, putting it in front of Alfred. When the coffee was done he poured them each a hot mug.

They said nothing as they had their first meal of the day. When he finished Alfred got up to place his plate and mug into the sink, beside Antonio. Without looking at the Spaniard he left the kitchen. Antonio called after him.

"I wouldn't blame you," He said, "Matthew's a very charming, beautiful young man. He'd make a wonderful partner."

Coming back into the kitchen Alfred said, with a frown, "Do you really think it would work?"

Antonio smiled, "I don't know. All you can do is try."

"I don't think he likes me though," The American stared sadly at the floor. Alfred was nearly certain that Matthew was your typical straight guy.

The Spaniard thought for a moment before answering, "Well, one of these days you gotta ask. It'll be the hardest thing in the world, but you've got to let him know somehow. Maybe first you should focus on yourself to make sure what you're feeling is real."

Alfred nodded and made his way back to the living room where Matthew was fast asleep on the pullout couch. He stood in front of the sleeping Canadian and smiled before running his fingers through the boy's soft, blond hair. From his point of view, ever since he'd learned about the secret of Cartier, Mattie had taken up the image of a fragile china doll that could be easily broken. He wanted to be his hero.

He crawled into bed beside the sleeping figure and watched his dreamy face. Occasionally, he'd feel the urge to run a finger down Matthew's exposed cheek. His greatest desire at the moment was to wraps his arms around the Canadian in a morning snuggle but fears of the reaction he'd get or the unwanted attention he'd grab from a spying Spaniard or unaware Italian held him back.

Okay, he threw his hands up mentally in confession, I love him. At first it had been a simple crush with their encounter on the lacrosse field, then a suspense filled mystery with the history of the Cartier name. It had turned into a heard felt connection as they bonded over their failed families. But now it was more than that.

Alfred loved Matthew. He loved the way the Canadian laughed as Alfred chased down taxis on the busy Spanish streets; he loved how Matthew had mastered the ability to speak his mind, politely and cautiously. How he corrected Alfred's false impressions of history when they visited art galleries or museums. He loved how people mistook them for brothers on account of them looking so similar with their blond hair and blue eyes. He loved when Matthew would instantly apologize when someone bumped into _him_ and when he'd apologize to Alfred for not having money to pay him back.

He loved how peaceful he felt when Matthew smiled, how he was sad when Matthew was sad. He loved dispelling all of Matthew's fears and concerns. He loved simply being in the young man's presence. How lucky was he to have found such a wonderful creature? Had Alfred not reached out and felt his physical hand he would've guessed he was seeing things. He'd pass it off as a visit from an untouchable deity.

He curled his lips wondering what the Canadian was like underneath it all. He wondered what he looked like, what he felt like, even, what he tasted like. He shook his head_. I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. _

He laid there for a few more minutes before remember today's room transfer. Getting up he packed his belongings back into his suitcase, not bothering to fold his clothes. He left them by the side of the bed. When he finished he grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans, readying himself to jump into the shower. Antonio was currently in there and had been for almost ten minutes. When Antonio opened the door at 8:29am the American sifted past him and turned on the hot water. In the shower he washed his hair and scrubbed his body. Lifting his face to the shower head he closed his eyes and hummed softly, enjoying the hot water roll down his skin. A violent banging on the door startled him. Lovino was on the other side yelling at him to hurry up.

After getting dressed he used his towel to ruffle his hair dry. Lovino was still complaining at the door when he opened it. "Alright, alright," he grumbled passing the Italian, "it's all yours." It was now closing in on 9am. Ten minutes give or take. He figured it was time to wake his sleeping beauty.

"Matthew," Alfred poked Matthew's cheek, delightfully watching him wiggle in bed as he did so, "Matthew!"

Mumbling incoherent words Matthew's eyes opened. He stared at Alfred momentarily before sitting up and murmuring, "Alfred?"

"Yup," Alfred grinned at him, "It's me."

"What time is it?"

"Time to get up." The American responded with enthusiasm, "Antonio wants us to start moving stuff around now."

)()()()()(

Matthew was in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water, when he was approached by a fidgety Feliciano. The young Italian was carrying a second postcard. Matthew stared at the hard paper square, then at his host. The look on Feliciano's face suggested something was wrong, "Is everything alright, Feli? You look upset."

The thin, brunette could not hold back his fear anymore. He jumped into Matthew's arms and cried. While sobbing me managed to squeak his message out, "They're coming. They found you and Alfred."

Matthew grabbed the young man's shoulders and pushed him back gently, letting their eyes meet. He stared at Feliciano, pupil to pupil. Taking a deep breath he said, "Who's coming after us? Interpol?"

Feliciano said nothing, he just nodded.

The Canadian let go of his shoulders and paced back and forth. He was now in distress. It was clear that he and Alfred would have to run again. He questioned in his head how far away the international police organization was. He wondered if they knew their exact location. He thought of how he'd handle the situation if they came bursting in moments from now.

Seeing the anxiety on Matthew's face Feliciano provided as much information as he could. He told him, "Antonio wrote to me and said they traced Alfred's credit card. He said he sent your belongings to Germany."

Of course! Matthew thought as he stopped striding, "They must have gained access to the airports computers." But something was troubling Matthew, "How did they know about Alfred? I thought they were after me?"

The Italian shrugged. He was stumped. But whatever the case, "You'll soon need to leave. Otherwise, they'll catch the two of you."

Matthew nodded, still trying to connect the dots in his head. The only reasonable solution was that Interpol wasn't just after him, they were after Alfred too. Maybe his dad was finally catching up to him. He'd have to tell him.

Leaving Feliciano still fretting in the kitchen, Matthew marched into the living room and directed Alfred to prepare to leave. The American was caught off guard, but Matthew was determined to get moving. If his suspicions were correct then there were two forces chasing after them. Alfred's family and his own. Alfred's family may have the money, but his had the determination. Combine the two and…well, he didn't want to think about it.

"Mattie," Alfred called after him as he walked away. The American was beyond confused. He followed Matthew back to the kitchen to see Feliciano shaking. He looked at the Italian, "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry," He repeated over and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't hit me!"

Alfred blinked, "What? What are you? Why are you apologizing? What's going on?" He whipped his head around to gain sight of his travelling partner, "Matthew! Tell me what's going on!"

"They found us," Matthew placed the clothing Alfred had bought for him on the dining table. He had already left a ton of clothing behind before at Antonio's; he wasn't going to make that mistake again. He also had a bunch of Al's attire too. Looking at Feliciano he asked, "Do you have something we can put these in?"

"Um," Feli was hesitant, "Yes." He rummaged around his cupboards until he found a few plastic bags from when he last went grocery shopping, "Will these do?"

At that moment Ludwig came in the door. Feliciano had sent him out early when he had first received the postcard. He'd asked him to ask around for information regarding Interpol and any investigations they were doing. He was now back with his report.

"Well?" The Italian rushed to the door.

"Yeah," Ludwig said with a heavy sigh, "They're active alright." He travelled to the dining room where Alfred and Matthew were and plopped himself down in a vacant chair. "Word on the street is they're chasing two North American runaways. One French-Canadian and one rich American," He looked up at his two guests from his hunched over position, "I'm guess that's you two."

Matthew frowned and Alfred glanced away uneasy. It was most definitely them.

"Well," He sighed again, "You can't fly out. They'll just track you down again. You'll have to drive."

"But how?" Matthew asked, "We don't have a car."

Ludwig stood up, "I'll have to drive you."

"Do you have a car?" Alfred raised a brow. Last he had checked Venice didn't have vehicles.

"Ja," The German answered, "But it's parked outside of the city. That's how I got here, I drove from Berlin."

"Cool," He responded, "So the German is driving us."

"What about me?" Feliciano asked, his voice a few octaves higher, heightening his heart breaking from being left out.

"You should stay here," Ludwig told him, "You'll have to be our eyes and ears from this point."

Feliciano frowned. He loved going on long rides with Luddy. The idea of the two being parted saddened him, but he knew it was for a good cause. He was rather grateful for one thing at least. Now Ludwig was willing to help. Before the German had been dead set against the two North Americans staying, but after much pleading on Feliciano's part (plus a scrumptious breakfast made with assistance from Matthew) Ludwig was changing his tune.

It was convenient for him anyway. He needed to drop in on his cousin Roderich, who, he'd heard from his brother, was going to be in Germany soon after his father's arrangements had been sorted in Spain. By the time Ludwig reached Germany his Austrian kin was sure to be back.

Matthew packed their goods in the plastic bags provided by Feliciano and said his goodbye. They had to leave as soon as possible and Ludwig wanted to get on the road before nightfall. Alfred was also eager to get on the road, hoping to pass a miracle fast food joint along the way – something Ludwig almost guaranteed wouldn't happen.

As Feliciano waved goodbye to them he wondered if he'd ever see them again.

* * *

Please R & R! I'll love you forever!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

A/N: HURRAY! It's my birthday today you guys (Oct 18th)! I'd love if you left a review as a "birthday present".

* * *

They reached the city of Berlin the next day shortly before 3pm. The drive itself was just under twelve hours but when they reached Austria, Ludwig made a detour to Salzburg where his cousin's family held a small, luxury townhouse. They were currently using their main house in Vienna and allowed Ludwig to stay in the Salzburg home whenever he travelled between Italy and Germany.

It was cozy and they all got a good night's sleep before hitting the road again the next morning. The drive to Berlin from Salzburg was approximately seven and a half hours. They stopped over in Nuremburg for lunch before driving non-stop to their destination.

Both Matthew and Alfred were relieved to finally be out of the car. Ludwig too, anticipated the final stop. They were just inside the great city, in a residential area. The German neighbourhood looked suburban with houses sporting nice, small lawns tucked away behind little brick fences.

Ludwig walked up to the bungalow door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. In frustration he banged the door yelling, "Gilbert! I know you're there you _dummkopf_!"

Footsteps were heard charging at the door and voice grunted before the door swung open revealing a slobby looking Albino on the other side. He was in a white muscle shirt and grey shorts covered in sweat stains. For someone who sounded angry coming to the door, he looked rather pleased and smirked, "Oh West, I see you've come home." Beads of water trickled down his face as he grinned.

Germany was in the mists of a heat wave. Few people were out on the streets, opting instead to stay inside with the conditioner on. While driving Ludwig had put the cold air on the maximum level. Matthew commented that the trio should consider stopping to get a freezie which garnered him confused stares from his travel mates.

"You know," He explained, "Flavoured frozen water?"

"OOOOOOh," Alfred said before suggesting ice cream instead.

Ludwig pushed his older brother aside, marching straight to the kitchen. He was deathly thirsty. He also needed to use the phone in the kitchen to call Feliciano.

Gilbert chatted away in his arrogantly cocky tone to Ludwig as he passed by, "So West, are these the people Antonio told me about? What the heck is going on anyway? Why should I babysit them because you don't want to? Whatever, it could be fun. It's not like I need guests or anything, I like being alone."

Ludwig rolled his eyes, opening the fridge door to find a cooling beverage. The one thing he hated about his older brother was his mouth. It never seemed to close. Grumbling, he looked up at the silver haired young man, "Really, _brüder_, I don't know much more than you. Feliciano talked me into driving them here."

"Well," Gilbert shrugged, "Yeah, I guess they can stay. How awesome is it of me to allow strangers into my home?" He beamed with self-satisfaction at his rhetorical question.

Ignoring him, Ludwig picked up the black cordless phone in the kitchen and dialed a series of numbers. The loud ring in the receiver could be heard as the phone rang. A peppy voice answered, making it obvious who was on the other line.

"Ja Feli, it's me." Ludwig began his conversation, "Ja, we made it just fine." He carried on this way as he walked away from his brother and guests into a room down the hall for privacy.

"So," Gilbert stared at the two North Americans. They stared back, "You're uh…runaways then?"

"Um," Matthew blinked, trying not to shudder from the grossness of the young man's appearance, "yes." He secretly wished the albino would at least change his clothing.

"That's cool," He nodded, "I thought about running away once but, you know, everyone would miss me. I'm Mr. Popular around here."

Matthew and Alfred exchanged glances. The Canadian found this information hard to believe but Alfred just laughed it off.

"Oh really?" The American said, "I guess you'll have no problem showing us around then? You know, meeting up with new friends and whatnot, right?"

"Of course!" Ludwig's older brother laughed nervously. Busted.

Alfred smiled away, having meant what he said. He really did buy that this strange looking German might be a popular figure in the city. After all, he'd never been to Germany before, so what did he know? Matthew was better at reading posture and could tell Gilbert was flat out lying to them. He crossed his arms, unsure of what to say.

They all stared at each other; the only thing keeping the silence away was muffled voice of Ludwig down the hall. He was still chatting with Feliciano, the assumed. The three looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Alfred took a chance on a new topic.

"So," he began to speak, "You're German…" It wasn't a very impressive topic. Until…

"_Nein_." Gilbert riposted, "I'm Prussian." When they gave him confused looks he explained, "I was born in Germany East, so technically, I'm Prussian."

Matthew was terribly confused by this logic, "Wouldn't being born in Eastern Germany still make you German?"

"Eastern German at the very least," Alfred added.

"Nein," The albino said again, "I was born before the wall came down."

"And how old are you?" The American countered.

"Twenty-four," He said with robust vanity.

Matthew couldn't find a hole in that. Officially the wall was demolished in 1990. If Ludwig's brother was twenty-four then he was born in 1988. Even if you considered the wall coming down in 1989 to be the end of the two Germany's you still had to admit it was possible for him to be 'East German'. Matthew wanted to know one more thing, "How old is Ludwig?"

"Oh, West? He's twenty-two." Gilbert nodded.

Ah, Matthew thought, Ludwig was born in 1990 then. He supposed it made sense if…

Alfred had his own question, "Why do you call him that?"

"What?" Gilbert asked.

"West."

"Oooooooh," Gilbert shrugged with character, "Because, he was born on the west side of the wall."

Matthew had his opening, "But there wouldn't be a west side after the wall came down."

"So?" Gilbert asked, looking slightly annoyed, "That doesn't mean that I can't consider him born on the west side."

The Canadian frowned, "I guess not, but that still doesn't explain why you consider yourself Prussian."

"Because I am!" he said, "Our family, the Beilschmidts, come from a long and noble line of fine Prussians."

"Cool!" Alfred was amused, "Like royalty?"

"Sure," Gilbert grinned. He was clearly enjoying the attention.

They were about to continue the conversation when they heard the door open from the back room Ludwig was in. Eavesdropping they heard him sigh and answer questions nervously, "Yeah…" He'd say hesitantly, "Yeah, I miss you too. Yeah, I…I…think about you too." He finally raised his voice a bit saying, "I need to go Feli, I know, I know, but I have to go. I'll be back soon."

Matthew and Alfred pretended they had heard nothing while Gilbert poked some fun. Laughing he said, "Talking to your boyfriend?"

The German snapped, "He's not my boyfriend, we're just friends." His brother's response was an eye roll.

Gil suddenly began performing his own rendition of Ludwig and Feliciano's relationship, "Oh Luddy, I miss you so much," he squeaked pretending was the cutesy Italian. He voice then dropped copying his brother, "I miss you too, Feli. I love you so much."

Ludwig tossed the cap of the beer he'd gotten out of the fridge at Gilbert, "Would you shut up, you're an idiot." He turned to Alfred and Matthew and apologized. He then looked back at Gilbert and said, "Did you even introduce yourself to them?"

"I was about to do that!" Gilbert snapped, his face flushed. He looked at the two North Americans, still holding their plastic bags and said, "Yeah, I'm Gilbert, Ludwig's amazingly awesome older brother."

Alfred grinned, "Good to know. I'm Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

"I'm Matthew," The Canadian was hesitant to give his full name once again, "We heard a little bit about you from Antonio and Lovino."

"Oh those two?" He looked from Matthew to Ludwig, "Are they still fucking each other?"

Ludwig blushed deeply. He couldn't stand it when his brother spoke bluntly like that, "They're still together, yes."

"I see," Gilbert crossed his arms and stood silently. He was thinking to himself when he finally blurted out, "I thought Lovino would've killed him by now."

Ludwig frowned, "You can't tell me you were actually hoping for that."

"I never said I was hoping for it, West, I just said I thought it would've happened." The self-proclaimed Prussian justified himself.

The blond, burly German was about to argue back when the doorbell rang. He exchanged a confused stare with his brother asked if he was expecting anyone else today. Gilbert said he wasn't. The two crept towards the door and Ludwig looked through the peephole. He gave a sigh of relief.

"It's just Roderich," He turned the knob.

Unbeknownst to the two Huns, Alfred had grabbed Matthew's hand and bolted for the nearest closet. He was suspicious of Roderich and Elizabeta. While trying to figure out how the cops could've caught them in Spain he'd come to wonder if those two had any part in it. Roderich had pointed out during his visit that Matthew looked familiar and if posters were up of the Canadian it's likely that's where he could have made the connection. Matthew had brushed it off saying that his father was probably after him and they traced the credit card (much like they had done in Italy) but Alfred wasn't so sure.

He had a reputation for being 'a dummy' but when Alfred put his mind to something – especially one so close to a conspiracy; he could come up with some truly amazing ideas. He almost bought Matthew's idea until he remembered being at the airport in Spain. No one had stopped him. If his dad was after him wouldn't the cops have a photo of him too? Somebody must have snitched. It was unlikely that it would have been Lovino or Antonio since they went through the effort of helping them escape so it must be Roderich! Either way, Alfred wasn't taking any changes.

Diving into the linen closet in the hallway, Alfred slammed the door shut and listen to the conversation Ludwig was having with Roderich.

"Guten Tag, Roderich," Ludwig said to him, "What brings you here?"

"What?" The Austrian shrugged, "I can't visit my cousins?"

"Nien, nein," Ludwig tried to ease him, "It's just…we weren't expecting you."

"Well," The dark haired young man pushed past him, "I'm here now so you might as well let me in." He was sure to give Gilbert a dirty look as he passed him.

Holding back the urge to slug his cousin in the face, Gil told him in a rather snarky tone, "You can't stay long, we have guests."

"Guests?" Roderich raised a brow and looked around, "I don't see any guests."

Ludwig was equally perplexed. Matthew and Alfred had just been here a minute ago. Where did they run off to? The kitchen was in full view from the front door and they weren't in there. The living room, dark and brown, was just off to the side. They weren't there either. Ludwig marched to the hall and looked down. They weren't in the hall and he hadn't heard anyone shut a door. He wondered quietly where they went.

Roderich laughed, "It sounds to me like you're playing make believe with yourself again, Gilbert. You think you have all these friends and you really don't."

Alfred's stomach was turning as he held his breath. Was the gig up? He was sure Ludwig or Gilbert would say something to Roderich about them being here. Fearing for the worst he grabbed Matthew's hand and held it. Holding the Canadian's hand always made him feel strong. But this time holding it wasn't enough. Daring himself, he kissed it.

Matthew blushed and blinked rapidly. He was a bit frightened by this sudden sign of affection. The confusion of the moment brought his mind back to yesterday morning when the two were on the gondola in Italy. Concerned and flustered he asked in a rushed whisper, "What was that for?"

Alfred whispered back, "Because, what happens if we get caught?"

"I don't know…"

Alfred did, "You'll get dragged back to Canada that's what. And I'll get stuck with my dad again. This whole adventure will come to an end. I don't want it to end, Matthew. I don't want us to part yet."

Matthew's heart wrenched as he stared into the fearful eyes of his American companion. Alfred did sincerely look worried that they might be separated. Sighing quietly he patted his partner's hand, "We'll be fine."

"Yeah," Alfred said quietly, "I hope."

Gilbert could feel the heat building inside of him as he searched his mind for words to snap back the Roderich. He wanted to scream at the snob, he wanted to hit him, he wanted curse and break something. Roderich doesn't know a damn thing about me, he told himself. He did have visitors. Those two runaway kids were here…somewhere. He was about to tell the irritating Austrian that when a vision from heaven walked through the door. He stammered over his words as he watched the lovely brunette woman come through the door.

"…E…Elizabeta." His heart was aflutter. He swallowed hard, fighting the blush on his face. In his mind he coached himself to calm down. She was his cousin, nothing more.

"Oh, Gilbert," Her words were music to his ears. Even in the dreaded heat of a Germany summer her hair was still moisturized and shiny. A few trickles of sweat covered her forehead but her face was still glowing brightly. Gilbert could not understand (or stand) how she had fallen for a royal douche like Roderich. She nodded, acknowledging him as she passed to join her fiancé in the living room, "_Szia_."

Gilbert's eyes watched her cross the room and sit down beside his other cousin. His mind was clouded with images of the two in their youth. When they were little he and Elizabeta had been close. His cousin liked to think of herself as a tomboy and often wished she were of the male gender because, in her mind, they had more freedom. They would toss baseballs back and forth, chase each other with wooden swords their parents had bought for them at local fairs and roughhouse each other in wrestling. Every time Gilbert's mother would intervene reminding her eldest son that Elizabeta is a girl, and he must go easy on her. She always protested this and edged him on to be as competitive as possible. "I want you to fight me like I'm a real boy," She would tell him.

Her presence here all but silenced him as he quietly made his way to the fridge while Ludwig joined the two in the living room. He made his first stop at the counter, pulling out four tall glasses from the cupboard. Opening the freezer door he threw ice cubes in, each one making a clinking noise as it dropped into the cups. Turning on the tap the let the water cascading from the faucet chill before adding it to each cup, filling the open-ended cylinders with the clear liquid. He managed to grab all four glasses in his fingers and carry them back to the living room. He sighed internally. The moment away from Elizabeta had given him a chance to gain control of himself.

Ludwig thanked his brother for the glass of cold water as he chatted with Roderich. The Austrian told him of his visit with Antonio and Lovino and their guests and how bitter he felt about the Spaniard not giving him a heads-up about the visitors. "If he had told me," He grumbled to his German cousin, "I would have been able to book a hotel room sooner."

"Well," Ludwig countered, "You didn't give him much notice of your arrival either." He had heard the whole story from Feliciano who had spoken to Antonio and Lovino. Apparently Roderich had called only the night before his incursion – at least that was how Antonio described it.

Unsatisfied with his cousin's defence of another person, Roderich added, "He still should have mentioned it when I called him."

To this the German sighed and conceded, "Yes, you're right, he should have."

Feeling contented with his victory, Roderich brought up more news. This time it was regarding their own family. "Elizabeta and I have decided when we'd like our wedding to happen." Gilbert perked up to listen. "We'll have it next spring."

"That's nearly a year away," Ludwig said with surprise. He thought it would've been sooner. He sipped his glass of water waiting for an explanation.

"Yes, it is," Roderich acknowledge, "But it's going to be a busy year for my father and his job. I'd hate to book a date and have to cancel it because he's away."

"Roderich is busy too," Elizabeta cut in. Gilbert hung on every word she said, "He's helping his father, as I'm sure you know. So of course, when his father is busy he is too." She sipped her cup with grace, making Gilbert melt. When he handed it to her he had hoped their fingers would touch, but she made the effort to avoid the contact. It saddened him.

Ludwig nodded, knowing full well what was expected of Roderich in the family. The subject soon changed to Ludwig with his Austrian cousin asking about dear Feliciano. "Ah," The burly German answered, stopping to think, "He's…doing well. Cooking, cleaning, being his spaced-out self."

Roderich sighed and shook his head. He liked Feliciano because the kid was sweet, but he was letting all of his talents go to waste. This, Roderich could not understand, "Why doesn't he do something more productive with himself? He still has his inheritance from his grandfather, right? He should sponsor his own art exhibit or something." Roderich was of course referencing the young Italian's wonderful ability to paint. While in university he had made a near replica of the Mona Lisa for Roderich as a birthday gift; it was still hanging proudly on the Austrian's wall at home.

"Yes he does," His blond cousin confirmed, "but he says he doesn't need fame or money from art. He'll only draw and sculpt what he feels like."

"I hope he's not insisting on living off of his fortune then," The dark haired Austrian scoffed.

"Oh Roderich," Elizabeta gave his arm a soft slap, "Be nice to Feli." She loved and adored the cutesy Italian who often baked her sweets and gave her small gifts. He was polite and optimistic and could make even the dampest person smile. She remembered how open and welcoming he was the first time she met him while visiting her cousins while they were still students at the university in Italy. He showed her around town, dazzled her with old Italian love stories, and took her shopping. She suddenly found herself missing his smiling face.

Roderich shrugged off her nudge and gave her a moment to reminisce – he knew she would. He then stood up, and crossed the floor handing his glass to Gilbert. The Prussian grumbled taking it, partially annoyed that he was being treated like a waiter, and partially because the Austrian hadn't bothered to drink any of it. Turning his image to Elizabeta, Roderich said, "We should probably leave. I have some unfinished business to take care of."

Elizabeta stood up without a word and followed him out of the room like a puppy. The two walked over to the front door and slipped on their shoes while Gilbert and Ludwig watched. Roderich gave Ludwig a nod and Gilbert a strict stare. He turned to open the door when something captured his mind. Turning back to them he said, "By the way, would you know anything about two young travellers named Matthew and Alfred?"

Gilbert grinned proudly and was about to announce that he had when Ludwig blurted out, "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." Roderich told him, "They're just friends of Antonio's. I was just wondering how they were." He held open the door for Elizabeta to skip past and left the house, leaving the door wide open for Ludwig to close.

"Man!" Gilbert pounded a fist into his hand, after the door was firmly shut, "I really hate that guy!" Now that they were gone his exuberant personality was flooding back. But a thought could not escape him. Looking at his younger brother he asked, "But why didn't you tell them about Al and Matt?"

"I very well couldn't tell him about them after they went and disappeared." He answered. Silence fell upon the house until a crash came from the hallway. Gilbert and Ludwig jumped and dashed to the epicentre of the noise. It was a linen closet in the hall. There was Matthew lying on the floor being crushed by Alfred on top of him. They were jumbled up with each other in a big mess. Ludwig narrowed his eyes, "What were you two doing in there?"

Alfred looked up with an innocent smile, "Playing hide-and-go-seek?"

Ludwig was not impressed, "And why were you playing this game?"

Matthew pushed Alfred off him and stood up off the floor. He dusted his beige shorts off and fixed his crooked glasses. He felt slightly embarrassed for this disturbance, "Alfred…" He looked at the American who frowned at him, "doesn't like Roderich. He thought he was…reactionary. "

Ludwig couldn't say much. He found the opinion tenable. "Well," He swished his arms lightly around him, making gesture to the living space, "You can tarry around here for a while. I should get back to Feliciano."

"You're leaving already?" Alfred his voice raised an octave, showing his surprise.

"Yeah," He answered with agitation in his words, "Feliciano is pestering me to return already."

Matthew gave him a sympathetic smile, but added, "You've only been gone for two days."

"Yes but," The German grunted, "this is Feliciano we're talking about." The Italian was incredibly needy and ever since they met at university they'd been attached at the hip. Whenever Ludwig went away Feliciano called him daily to check on him, often more than once. At first Ludwig had minded, finding it strange and objectionable but he'd soon began appreciating Feli's doting. His brother had always been either with Elizabeta or pestering him so it was nice to have a passive person around who would hear him (not necessarily listen, but close enough).

"You could at least take a day to rest," Matthew told him, "You spent a lot of time driving both today and yesterday."

"Yeah, dude," Alfred commented further, "Chill for a few hours."

Gilbert chimed along with them, "It's been a long time since I've seen you, West. You should stay."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes, "You saw me last month. You came to visit for the whole weekend…unless you're lonely…"

This struck a chord with Gilbert. He narrowed his eyes and pouted, disappointed to find his own brother calling him out. "No," He said firmly with aggression, "I'm not lonely." He replaced his angry look with a smug grin, "I just thought you might want to spend some time with your awesome older brother. You know, learn some tips for being awesome. Awesome tip number one…"

"Nein, nein, nein," Ludwig waved him away, "I'd rather spend hours driving in a car than listen to you rant about what it means to be amazing. Well, amazing in your opinion anyhow." Having decided on what he would do Ludwig told the group he would have a shower and depart.

Grabbing some towels from the linen closet Matthew and Alfred had hid themselves in he went into the bathroom across the hall. He slammed the door shut and turned on the water; diverted the running hot liquid to the showerhead by turning the lever to cut it off from the tub faucet. Stripping himself of his clothing, hot and sticky from the humid air, Ludwig walked into the shadow, instantly feeling refreshed as the water cascading over his muscular body.

The sound of the water hitting the ceramic tiles beneath him created a hypnotic tapping reminding him of rain. It brought back a vivid memory of younger days as a student. He'd stayed late to discuss an assignment with his professor. He felt the instructions given were too vague and he wanted to make sure his impressions were correct so that he could do the assignment properly. Despite having grown up in a casual household he was the kind of guy who took following the rules seriously and always making sure everyone was aware of their role. It was this mindset that required him to make sure he always knew the tiniest detail of any plan or project. Even though he'd planned to be late, the lax behaviour of the water taxi threw him off course and he was forced to walk home. Halfway it had started pouring and by the time he reached the neighbourhood his shared apartment was in he was soaking wet. And then, out of the miasma of clouded rain came Feliciano with a worried expression on his face and a big, open umbrella in his hand. He was dolled up in a yellow rain jacket with matching yellow rain boots, with a wide-rimmed yellow hat to match. The only thing not yellow was his umbrella which was a brilliant shade of royal blue. He ran up to Ludwig, looking concerned. Panting he said to the German, "Luddy, I saw it started raining and you weren't home so I came looking for you!" Ludwig scolded him for being stupid, but deep down he was touched. He couldn't think of anyone else who'd do such a thing for him.

Scrubbing the conditioner out of his hair he turned the water off and climbed out of the shower. He towel dried himself and put a new pair of clothes on that he'd also grabbed just before entering the bathroom. He was glad Roderich was not here to see this – the Austrian would have complained to him that it would have been much more efficient if he had hung his clothes out to refresh them. Ludwig could hear his voice now, "You hardly wore those clothes! You should just shake them out and re-wear them." The German shuddered. For a young man who looked prime and pristine, Roderich could be so chintzy.

Ludwig re-entered the kitchen area to grab himself another quick glass of water. He found Alfred, Gilbert and Matthew playing cards at a round table just off of the kitchen. By the looks of it they were playing Crazy 8's. He scooped up his car keys and walked over to the table, "Okay, I'm heading back now."

"Have a safe journey," Matthew smiled to him.

"You sure you don't want to stay, West?"

"Ja," The German said to his brother, "I really should go. Who knows what kind of trouble Feliciano will get into by himself? Last time I was away he got suckered into buying a vacuum we didn't need." Not only did they not need the cleaning machine, it also didn't work. He chose to omit this part. He didn't want to have to go into details.

"Be sure to say hi to Feli for us," Alfred waved to him as Ludwig left the kitchen.

"I will." Ludwig opened the door and shut it; leaving his childhood house, brother and guests, behind him. He was going back to Feliciano. He was going home.

* * *

End Notes: So far I've found my characters (er…my writing for Hima's characters) to be incredibly bland. They do show some spark of individualism here and there, but they're kind of boring and lack the charisma they have in the show. From this point forward I'm going to try to bring out their natural personalities more.

Oh, and the next chapter is awesome! I had a lot of fun writing it.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

A/N: WOW! After this chapter I'll have tied my personal best for most chapters in a story. Of course, the chapters in this series are longer than the other one, but hey, whatever. I hope you're all enjoying it and that the blandness of the characters hasn't scared you away.

* * *

Alfred and Matthew spent the night together in Ludwig's bedroom at the Beilschmidt home in Berlin. When Matthew awoke he found Alfred watching him lovingly, holding his hand. Still tired, he murmured a moan and rubbed his face into the pillow. A small peck of pressure on his hand brought his attention back to Alfred. The American was placing sweet little kisses up and down his arm, down to the elbow and back up again.

"What are you doing?" Matthew mumbled sleepily, as he observed his travelling companion touch his skin with his lips.

"Nothing." The blond Yank answered, continuing his trail of smooches over Matthew's arm. The Canadian's arm was warm against the skin of his lips.

"It's not _nothing_." The Canadian responded lightly, still in a tired, dreamy state.

"You obviously don't have a problem with it," Alfred stopped kissing him to tell him, "otherwise you would have yelled at me, jumped through the window and ran as far away as you possibly could." He went back to caressing the arm he was holding.

Matthew hated to admit it but it was true. Silently, he continued to watch Alfred kiss his limb. The feeling of Alfred's mouth on his arm made his skin tingle and a strange warmth boiled inside him. Gazing into Alfred's eyes he asked a question he had asked before, "Why me?"

"I already told you," Alfred stroked the fingers in his hand as he kissed the tip of each one. Inside he was fighting the temptation to lick them and put them into his mouth.

"For real this time," Matthew sluggish voice was just above a whisper. Despite sounding asleep, he was now wide awake. This new, strange sensation was somewhat troubling to him.

"Because I love you," Alfred stared into Matthew's ocean blue eyes. Before the Canadian could open his mouth he spat out, "Matthew you're beautiful. And how could you not be?" He added with a laugh, "You do look a lot like me you know." The Canadian glared from across the bed, "But in all seriousness you really are. You're not just beautiful, you're intelligent, and you're smart…"

"Those two are the same thing," Matt corrected him with a blank stare.

"Yeah, whatever, just hear me out, okay?" Matthew nodded his head, letting the American continue, "Ever since I first saw you I thought you were wonderful. You were just so graceful running around that field. Your determination, the way you laughed off a bad pass, not your passes of course, yours were awesome…"

"Alfred," Matthew interrupted him again.

"Sorry, sorry," He smiled apologetically, "But I'm serious. I really do love you."

Matthew was confused and sad. How could Alfred possibly love him? They'd known each other less than a month and if what Alfred was saying was true, then he'd fallen in love with him before he'd even spoken to him. People don't just fall in love like that. Matthew searched deep down inside of himself looking for the right words to explain how he was feeling. How should he express the tightness in his chest? Was it fear? He thought so. He wasn't sure. But he was sure of one thing, "People don't just magically fall in love, Alfred."

"I expected you to say that," Alfred continued giving his partner a soft smile, "You're really not the type to believe in love at first sight, are you?" Matthew shook his head making Alfred laugh, "Of course not, you're too rational."

Alfred kissed the back of Matthew's hand, keeping his eyes locked with Matthew's. If only he had the super human ability to read minds. Not only would he be able to understand Matthew better, but he would also be a superhero! He found himself momentarily distracted imagining himself jumping off of tall buildings and flying like Superman. He imagined himself in a fancy blue car shaped like Batman's. He imagined himself taking the place of Captain America. Yeah, he thought to himself, I'd make a great Captain America!

His superhero vision was cut short when Gilbert came barging into the room to declare that he'd made an incredibly awesome breakfast for all of them. His loud triumphant voice was only silenced by the scene of two boys holding hands, which he scoffed at. Walking back out of the room he could be heard muttering under his breath, "Creepy gays…"

Alfred ignored him and instead looked at Matthew. The look on his face was grave. Taking in a deep breath he asked, "Now that you know…are you scared of me?"

Matthew took a moment to collect himself. He was certainly shocked, but he wasn't sure he'd go as far as to say he was scared. Would his view of Alfred change? It would. Would their relationship change? Probably. But would Alfred all of a sudden become a different person? He didn't know. And that's what everything would depend on.

Becoming nervous with the silence the blond American said, "Y-you don't have to be. We'll just pretend this never happened."

"We can't just pretend it didn't happen," Matthew told him, "Because it did."

They both stayed quiet until Matthew said, "Let's just get some breakfast and we'll go from there."

"Good idea," Alfred instantly cheered up, "I'm starving! This breakfast had better be as awesome as Gil says it is."

Matthew entered the kitchen with Alfred way ahead of him, following the delicious smell of sweet meats. He looked down, shockingly, at the plate displaying ham, salami, other unknown meats and a variety of cheese. He watch Gilbert place a bowl of freshly boiled eggs on the table and sit down at the far side. The self-proclaimed Prussian seemed to suddenly remember something he'd forgotten and he dashed to the fridge, pulling out three bottles of beer.

When he placed them on the table Matthew gave him a funny look. Defending himself with a crooked smile he said, "What? It's _Schwarzbier_. Who doesn't want to have Schwarzbier first thing in the morning?"

"I'm not against having beer or anything," Matthew said with a polite, nervous smile, "But I'm not sure I could drink one first thing in the morning."

Gilbert groaned loudly, "Fine, fine. You North Americans are so picky…" He wandered back leaving his own beverage on the table, "What do you want then?"

"Apple juice!" Alfred cheered, "No wait, orange juice! No, apple! Do you have chocolate milk?"

The Albino blinked trying to process the ramble. He looked into the fridge, "No, no and no. We got none of that." He looked back at Alfred awaiting his response.

"I'll take the beer then…"

"We'll have water," Matthew interjected. He gave Alfred a stern stair. There was no way he was going to let his travel companion get drunk first thing in the morning. Especially since he wasn't sure if he trusted Gilbert yet; there was something strange about him. He eased himself as Alfred conceded.

"Yeah, alright," Gilbert walked over to the cupboard and pulled out two tall beer glasses. He filled them just under the rim with water and made his way back to the table, "If you want to be boring, then fine, be boring."

They sat in awkward silence for a while, staring at each other. No one made a sound or movement. Finally Alfred turned to Matthew and said, "If you wanna say a prayer or something…"

Gilbert suddenly gawked, "You're a Christian!?" He didn't wait for Matthew to sort out his stutters, adding, "I know _Gott_! We go way back we do…" He nodded his head as if it justified what he was saying.

Alfred and Matthew exchanged glances. Neither of them believed a word of what Gilbert was saying. Alfred still liked the guy and thought his claim was rather humorous, but for Matthew it raised more questions about Gilbert. He wondered if he and Alfred were really safe here. The only thing keeping him in place was his trust in Ludwig and Feliciano, as well as Antonio and Romano. If those four insisted Gilbert was a good guy then, well, he just had to believe them.

Ignoring Gilbert he turned his attention to the array of meats and cheeses in front of him. There were also slices of dark bread and eggs on the table. Matthew found it to be a rather interesting breakfast. It reminded him of the ones Arthur used to make himself before Francis started enforcing they eat lighter meals in the morning. He found himself smiling at the memory and wondering how his father and step-father were doing.

If Matthew was intrigued, Alfred was plainly baffled. He'd never seen a breakfast like this. He was used to eating cereal, bacon, eggs, toast with jam, hash browns, porridge, pancakes and even, sometimes, fruit. But cold cuts and cheese was new. Looking at the bread he figured he could probably make a sandwich out of it with the ham. But then that would make this lunch… He shrugged. Whatever, he told himself, it's a vacation! I'll eat what I want!

)()()()()(

The Reichstag was the first and most important thing on Matthew's list of city sights. The German parliament building stretched across the street plaza. It had the classical Greek Temple looking entrance, with an egg shaped glass dome peeking out above the roof. The area was flooded with tourists queuing to see the great building.

Gilbert grunted, "See, I told you it would be busy." He crossed his arms and looked away in frustration. It's always busy, especially on the weekend."

Alfred half-smiled, "But it's Friday, so technically it's not the weekend yet."

The Prussian snuffed his nose, "Well technically it's busy all week long so, I'm right." He lifted his chin with a proud smile, "The awesome Gilbert is always right."

Matthew rolled his eyes and walked to the end of the lengthy line. They waited nearly half an hour before entering the majestic structure. Matthew didn't mind the wait. He amused himself scanning over the building, looking for relic bullet holes from the Second World War. The little cavities were kept intact despite the renovations in the nineteen nineties to remind the citizens of the horrors of war and the price for terrible sins. Above them a triangle architrave soared, highlighting the coat of arms surrounded by flexibly sculpted people, Matthew read the slogan underneath to himself, "Dem Deutschen Volke." To The German People. What a fantastic gift, he thought.

Most rooms inside were off limits and guests were directed to the elevators to the room where the glass dome stood. From there they were told, they would get a three hundred and sixty degree view of the entire city. Matthew was thankful that Alfred had stopped to purchase another disposable camera. He was sad that all of their pictures from Spain were still with Antonio. He hoped at some point they'd get them back.

The glass dome was a sight to behold all on its own. The circular set up was meant to symbolize the reunification of Germany in nineteen ninety. The view of Berlin was spectacular. One could easy see the giant German flag that was erected after the nation's reunification in the distance. The clear blue sky made it possible to see farther than one normally could and Matthew found himself counting the tall buildings far away. He was glad to see it.

They had nearly been turned away at the door since prior registration was required to be inside the multiple leveled sphere. Luckily the doorman was an old classmate of Ludwig's and instantly recognized Gilbert. Of course, he was more irritated than happy to see him and attempted to call the guards right away. "What on earth did you do to that guy?" Matthew had leered at him. "Nothing," Gilbert fought back, "Oh, but, I might have played some tricks on him at school…like…putting hot sauce in his sandwiches." The memories made Gilbert laugh, but Matthew was not amused. It was Alfred's fancy debit card and a good story about Ludwig and Feliciano that changed the door monitor's mind.

The wonderful sights before him made him wonder how Western Germany could have ever given up such a beautiful spot as a capital. After the two sides had split the West had chosen to set up their political headquarters at the _Bundeshaus_ in Bonn while the present day Reichstag sat broken and crumbling after fires and bombs had destroyed its structure. It wasn't until the reunification that the sight was reclaimed.

Matthew looked over the railing of the fourth wraparound floor and saw Gilbert and Alfred chatting excitedly. They were pointing down to the glass ceiling that overlooked the government meeting room below and laughing. He cringed to think of what they might be talking about. When he reached them his fear escalated.

"Hey Mattie!" Alfred beamed, "Gil and I got this awesome idea to go down and sneak into the blunderstag room!"

"That's not a good idea," Matthew frowned, "And it's _bundestag_, not blunderstag."

The American shrugged like he couldn't have cared less, "Whatever, let's go!" He grabbed the Canadian's arm, ignoring his protests. He dragged Matthew to the emergency stairs and down to the floor below. He continued to hold his arm tightly until they reached the soft wood, double doors of the debating chamber.

Gilbert snickered and giggled as he pushed the door open gently. It was unlocked and they were now inside. The room itself was covered by glass walls and the ledges around the side balconies where some of the members sat were also glass. In front of them was a semi-circle made up of blue seats with a podium at the front. Behind the podium were more blue seats in a triple line that elevated with each row. The giant glass panel behind the setup had a large, stained eagle on it, the emblem of Germany. Alfred huffed at the bird, "Our eagle is better."

Gilbert poked back, "Our eagle is older."

"Yeah," Alfred accepted with a shrug, "But ours is American and if it's American, it's better." He nodded, pleased with his answer.

Gilbert went to fire back when Matthew whispered hastily, "We really shouldn't be here."

"Geez Mattie, relax," Alfred pushed him into one of the blue seats, "Take a seat and relax. We'll only be here for a minute or two." He looked at the large podium at the front, "Let's play German Senate!"

"This isn't the senate." Matthew argued from his blue chair. He watched Gilbert prepare to race to the podium himself, "Does Germany even have a senate?"

"Well," The albino had to think about that. He wasn't very interested in politics and never bothered to keep up with it, "I don't know. Sometimes city governments are called senates. And the ministers of city states are called Senators I think too." He didn't bother to go into detail, but turned and chased after Alfred who was already at the podium.

"My fellow Americans," Alfred rang out from the stand. He was unable to finish as Gilbert pushed him to the side, "No, no! Prussians! Our dear Prussians!"

"Prussia doesn't exist anymore, dude," The blond pushed him back and looked out at the imaginary crowd, "Eat hamburgers, free Tibet, and bomb the shit out of the Taliban!"

Matthew sighed exhaustively. This was more than he could handle. He stood up to leave when he heard Alfred comment that people from the dome where looking down, watching them. Matthew turned around and watched Alfred wave at them, "Hi!" He gleamed with a smile, "How are you up there?" Matthew wanted to walk over there and bonk the dummy in the head. They were going to get in trouble now. He didn't realize it was about to get worse.

"Let's moon them!" Gilbert suddenly blurted out.

"Dude, you're kidding!?"

"No way! Let's do it!"

Alfred had to think about that one. He cupped his chin with his hand, thinking hard. He finally opened his bright blue eyes with a sparkle of excitement, "Yeah! Why not!?"

"Why not!?" Matthew repeated the phrase with horror, "Because we'll be arrested! That's why!"

"Chill out, Mattie! You're with an all-American hero! What could possibly go wrong?"

The quiet Canadian was flabbergasted. Where had Alfred been storing this larger-than-life personality? Had he been playing it cool for attraction sake or had he been afraid to lose Matthew all together? Or maybe, Matthew thought to himself, it's hazardous to put two electric personalities in the same room together. He and Gilbert were clearly feeding off of each other's energy.

He closed his eyes as they went to pull their pants down at the people staring below. He waited to hear the rustling from above, but instead only heard Alfred laughing. He looked up to see the American had fooled Gilbert into being the sole offender. Gilbert was now standing there, bent over showing his rear end to the viewers above who were shocked and disgusted.

Gilbert cursed Alfred who slapped him on the shoulder and took off yelling, "Time to go!" he grabbed Matthew along the way and bolted out of the room and down the emergency staircase to the marbled hallway of the first floor. They waited for Gilbert, who had to pull up his pants before he could catch up to them, on the lean black sofas in small cavities of the hall. When he caught up he was furious, "Why the hell didn't you do it!?"

"Because," Alfred laughed, "I wanted to see you do it."

"We'd better go," Matthew looked around cautiously, "The employees were nice enough to us the first time, I doubt they'd be as friendly now." Alfred and Gilbert agreed and they left the building unnoticed.

)()()()()(

Matthew stared exuberantly at the arrangement of lime trees lining the _Unter den Linden_. The fully restored old buildings and new architecture of the area made a picturesque background for the exotic plants. The old German-American film star and singer, Marlene Dietrich had been right when she sang of its outstanding beauty.

The long, wide street reminded him of the Champs Elysees, as he examined the _Brendenburg Gate_, a more lengthy and rectangular Arc de Triomphe. Sitting on top of the Greek Revival structure was a quadriga, a chariot with four horses. The angel riding the chariot watched the people below carefully as it held a staff with the German cross inside a wreath; an eagle wearing a crown was perched proudly on top.

For Gilbert, the street brought back solemn memories. He was barely two years old when the East German flag was taken down off the Brendenburg gate. He and his parents were privileged to watch it from the Western side. Originally he'd been born in Eastern Germany, but when Hungary and Austria lowered their border defenses in August of 1989, his parents posed at tourists who were visiting their relatives. Technically, they were not lying. They did visit the newly born Roderich and their family, but when their short vacation ended they did not return to East Germany, but instead fled across the border to West Germany. Only thirteen thousand were able to make the escape before the borders were closed again by the Soviets in Eastern Germany. Some of those who tried to flee were detained by the Hungarian officials and held in Budapest.

He was a year and a half when demonstrations broke out in Eastern Germany with people chanting, "_Wir wollen raus_!". They were making it clear to their government that they wanted out. They wanted to run to Western Germany. In November they got that wish. The wall came down. It took several months after that to pull the entire Iron Curtain apart but the gate was open, the people were free.

His memories of Berlin weren't all bad. He used to walk the streets of the great city with his father when he was little and was told wonderful stories of the city's history. His favourite stories were of Berlin's historical role as the capital of Prussia.

In 1435, Fredrick I of the Hohenzollern family, the eventual kings of Prussia, made Berlin the capital of the Brandenburg principality within the Holy Roman Empire. Thirteen years later a citizen rebellion was crushed by Fredrick II as he established his royal palace in the little city. And nearly one hundred years later it was the Prussian princes who declared Lutheranism the religion of the principality. After the Thirty Years War, the elector opened the door to French Huguenots, creating a large French minority.

But Gilbert's favourite part was when, in 1701, Frederick I, King of Prussia, replaced Königsberg with Berlin as capital of the widespread empire. Under the great king's guidance the city began to grow. His son, Frederick II, or Frederick the Great, made the capital the centre of the Enlightenment. If only, Gilbert grumbled to himself, the French hadn't ruined it by invading with their damned Napoleon.

And there he was, at the end of the street; the statue of the magnificent king. He rode, tall and proud on his gallant horse, a ruffled cape and bicorne hat on his head. The first tier had elegant women in every corner. Some were reading and others were thinking. The second platform had men on horses in all four corners with armoured men stationed in between across the panel. The final the tier had fancy S shaped décor. There were words written across the iron plates and the structure held up the rest of the statue. Gilbert stared at it fondly. Old Fritz, his favourite king. How he would have loved to have lived during his reign.

They walked past Humboldt University surrounded by statues of Humboldt family members. Matthew commented that the school was home to an incredible cast of alumni. "There's Albert Einstein and Otto van Bismarck," He had to stop and think of more, "Oh, and Frederick Engels."

"The Grimm brothers too!" Gilbert added with a smart grin.

"The who brothers?" Alfred frowned.

"The Grimm brothers." Matthew smiled, "They wrote all those old fairy tales. You know, like Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White..."

The American raised a brow, "No, dude, that's Disney."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, "Yeah, right! We Germans did it first! Because we're awesome. You lousy Americans just stole it."

"Speaking of stealing," Matthew tacked on, "Didn't a German steal the invention of pulp paper from a Canadian?"

Gilbert glared and bit back, "No way! We Germans did it first!"

The Canadian raised his defenses and shouted back, "No you didn't!"

Alfred watched the two argue back and forth. He had no clue what they were talking about and was still stuck on the thought of Disney classics. He did resolve one thing with himself. If things escalated he was taking Matthew's side. If worst came to worst the two could always leave Gilbert's house and stay in a hotel, courtesy of Debbie. He didn't think it'd come to it though. Despite his energetic personality he seemed like a decent guy.

By the time they had finished passing the _Neue Wache_, the neoclassic Guard House for the troops of the Crown Prince of Prussia, and made their way up to the _Deutsches Historisches Museum_ (German Historical Museum), Matthew and Gilbert had ended their conflict. The building was right across the street from the Crown Prince Palace, the royal home of the Prussian kings, and the _Kommandantur_.

They spent the rest of the morning there, looking at relics of Germany's past. Matthew insisted on reading some books in the grand library, while Alfred took interest in the museum's cinema. Gilbert passionately told his guests all about the great Prussian military when they reached that section. There were two galleries of medals, uniforms, flags and prints. A comment by Alfred comparing the American army to the Prussian army gave cause for Gilbert to remind him that it was because of the great Prussian General, Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, that his country had its freedom.

"He organized your sorry excuse of an army! You owe your freedom to Prussia!"

"I don't think so," Alfred snapped, "We owe our freedom to the American dream."

It was Matthew's turn to be the odd man out and he listened the two debate over the American Revolution. They disputed each other's claims for several minutes until Matthew's grumbling stomach broke the argument. They stared at him as he rubbed his tummy and looked at them with an apologetic smile.

"I think it's time to eat."

)()()()()(

They took a taxi to the _Sch__ö__neberg_ district, where Gilbert claimed they had the best food. Walking along the street Matthew spotted a lively café that he wanted to try. "See there," He smiled and pointed, "Café Berio."

Gilbert blinked awkwardly at him and hesitated to follow the two to the outdoor patio. He slowly made his way over to the table by the window and sat down with Alfred and Matthew, looking nervously at the other guests. His facial expression prompted Matthew to ask him what was wrong.

"Look around you," Gilbert said. Matthew did and looked back at Gilbert, not seeing what was wrong. "It's the patrons of this bar. Don't you know, this is a-"

"Guten Tag!" A friendly, bald waiter approached them and asked for their order in German.

Alfred gave a confused smile and glanced quickly at Matthew, "I don't think this dude knows English."

Gilbert grinned widely; it was his time to shine. Smirking he said, "I guess you'll be relying on my awesome language skills."

"I guess so," Matthew concurred reluctantly.

Gilbert waved a menu at them like a fan, "So what will it be boys? Some wurst maybe? What about sauerkraut? My personal favourite is Königsberger Klopse."

Alfred shuddered. He didn't know what all of that was and he really didn't want to know either. Smiling nervously he asked, "Dude, don't you guys just have hamburgers?"

"Nein!" The Prussian retorted, "You're in Germany, you eat German food! It's good for you! It will make you manly and awesome, like me."

"Um," Alfred skimmed down the list of food. Only one thing looked decent (and familiar) enough for him to order. "I'll have that." He pointed to the picture so the waiter could see.

"Ah, currywurst," The waiter wrote down on his pad next to Gilbert's order. He stood politely and quietly waiting for Matthew.

Taking a cue from Alfred, Matthew also pointed to his meal of choice. He had decided to go with the Eierkuchen, a type of flat pancake. It reminded Matthew of the crepes his father made. He asked Gilbert to ask the waiter if some strawberry jam could be placed on the side. Gilbert was more than pleased to oblige.

The waiter asked them what they'd like to drink. Gilbert took their orders and translated them, "Bier, Apfelschorle, Coke."

"_Danke_," The waiter took their menus and went back into the building to retrieve their beverages. They didn't have to wait long until he returned with a tall glass of beer, sparkling apple juice, and a poured cup of Coke on a brown, plastic carryout tray.

When the waiter left them again, Matthew looked at Gilbert, "So, what were you going to say earlier?" Gilbert looked at him puzzled. "You know," Matthew explained himself, "when you worried about being at this restaurant."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Gilbert looked around nervously, "It's just that…this place isn't…up to my standards. You know, the awesome me needs to be seen at awesome places. This is not an awesome place."

Matthew frowned, dissatisfied with the Prussian's ego, "I don't see how it's not awesome. The staff is friendly and everyone looks like they're having a good time."

Alfred chimed in, "Yeah dude, check these people out. There are groups of mixed ages and genders and there are dudes cuddling with dudes and…um…wait…" He looked around for a second time, examining the patrons. His eyes were not deceiving him. Indeed there were many men and women canoodling with partners of the same gender, "aw shit," he spat out quietly, "this is a gay bar."

"Gay restaurant," Gilbert said quietly, "See, that's why the awesome me did not want to be here. No one as awesome as me could be gay…unless I was gay with myself because that would be alright. After all," He smugly smiled, "I am awesome."

They sat quietly in awkward silence until their waiter returned ten minutes later with their cooked food. Gilbert immediately chowed down on his meatballs served in a creamy white sauce with potatoes while Matthew spread strawberry jam on his flat pancakes. Alfred was pleasantly surprised by the taste of his curry ketchup as he ate his sausage with French fries. He beckoned Matthew to try some, but the Canadian declined.

When they finished, Gilbert called over their server, "_Herr Ober! Die rechnung, bitte_!" He waiter nodded and dashed away to bring them their bill.

"Well," Matthew folded his hands in his lap, "This has been interesting."

Alfred was too busy glancing around at the other guests. He noticed a young couple, two males, sitting together at the far end of the outdoor patio. They were on opposite sides of each other but could clearly be seen playing footsie. The American exhaled sadly, wishing that were him and Matthew. He looked the other way to a lesbian couple holding hands. One kissed the other on the cheek, prompting a return in gesture. With temptation all around him Alfred stretched out a pinky to grab Matthew's. The Canadian accepted it without a word.

Gilbert hardly noticed Alfred's hand creep across the table to grab Matthew's as he paid the bill. He noted to himself to keep the bill. He'd make Ludwig pay him back later. And if not Ludwig, then he could always guilt a few bucks out of Antonio. He turned back to them, finally spotting their connected fingers. He raised a brow but ignored it beyond that, "Well, we're done here so let's go back to my house."

"Sure," Matthew unlocked his hand from Alfred's and got up. The American slowly got up and joined him. Perhaps if he could find a way to distract Gilbert he could get Matthew alone for a while.

* * *

END NOTES:

~Canadians and Germans still argue over who invented pulp paper first. Canada insists it was Charles Fenerty while Germany favours their own F.G. Keller.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

AN: Okay guys, this one is a bit raunchy but nothing too...descriptive. I think? ...Well anyway, please read and review. And on a side note, hope you all had a fantastic halloween.

* * *

Gilbert wandered around town alone. When he had returned home with his North American duo they'd found a delivery man ringing the doorbell. He had boxes for a "Matthew Cartier and Alfred Jones."

Signing the release forms Matthew and Alfred tore into the boxes. Knowing they had come all the way from Spain the two could already guess what was inside.

"Dude," Alfred cheered happily, "Antonio got our clothes to us!"

Matthew smiled as he held up a blue shirt Alfred had bought for him, examining it. He folded it back up and placed it on top of the neat pile he had made beside him. "That was very nice of him."

Gilbert had helped them carry the boxes to Ludwig's room where the two were staying. A guest room was available but Alfred insisted Matthew stay with him. The Canadian shrugged and said he didn't mind. Gilbert found it a tad bit awkward and found himself wondering if Antonio and Lovino had rubbed their gayness off on these two. He had opened his mouth to say so but decided against it. He knew if Ludwig ever found out he'd be spoken to. His younger brother was strict, stern, and, in Gilbert's opinion, no fun; unless that fun came at his expense.

He remembered the time his brother tried to go on a diet and Gilbert, being the incredibly awesome older brother that he was, sat in front of the younger sibling and ate a giant piece of black forest cake, describing the taste of every bite. He had gotten a large bump on the head for that nasty trick.

The Prussian watched Matthew look back and forth between his box of clothing and the closet. With his signature cocky smile he said, "The closets are still filled with West's clothes. He does come back to see me a lot, you know. I mean, I _am_ his favourite _Bruder_."

This made Alfred laugh, "Dude, I thought you were his only brother."

"Well yeah but," Gilbert jerked out, but he had nothing to follow. He finally came up with the only reasonable response he could think of, "But I'm such an awesome brother, why _wouldn't_ he want to come home?"

_I can think of a few reasons_, Matthew thought quietly to himself but refrained from going farther than that, even in his own mind. He pushed his box into the corner beside the bedside table on the left side. It fit comfortably in there. He may not be able to put his clothes in the closet, but that was no reason why his clothes should be left out on the floor.

"I hope you don't mind, dude," Alfred grinned. He was bent over his box, sorting through his clothes, "We'll just be awhile sorting our stuff."

"Well," Gilbert shrugged, "If that's the case then I guess I'll head out. _Bis später_!" He gave a short wave and left the bedroom for the hallway. Down he went, with another left turn to make and out the front door after grabbing his car keys. He wasn't the greatest driver, though if asked he'd claim he was, but he owed his license to his younger brother who attended the driving test, sitting in the backseat. There was nothing more Gilbert loved than to show off.

And here he was, at the market after a ten minute drive. Parking was scarce in the nearby lot so he settled his car a few blocks away. He remembered to lock it this time. Last time someone had tried to steal if after he carelessly left it unattended and unlocked. Luckily the automobile robbery happened as he was walking towards the car. Gilbert was able to stop the man before he successfully captured the vehicle.

Gilbert strode down the cobble street set up with wooden stands, topped with fruits, vegetables, meats and cheeses. There were also some venues with different types of homemade desserts. Portly German women and their equally plump, farmer husbands were selling their goods to tourists and locals.

He observed every little store, licking his lips at all the delicious food. Wondering what he could buy he pulled out his wallet. He had just over twenty euro, a healthy amount to buy some casual groceries. Maybe a couple sausages, some cheese and an apple strudel. Oh, and a beer to sip on, of course. He'd have to be quick; the market would begin closing down soon.

With the strong smell of cheese wurst drawing him in, he pranced over to a nearby stall and with a woman merchant in her mid-sixties, "Hey old lady, I want some of that cheese wurst."

"That's no way to address an elderly woman, cousin," a scolding feminine voice came from behind him, "You're so rude sometimes."

The familiar voice made Gilbert's heart jump. Frozen in place he feared turning around. The last thing he wanted was to stare into the eyes of the woman he loved. He didn't want to see her brilliant green eyes or her shiny, long brown hair. He didn't want to see her slim feminine figure or smell her rosy perfume. He didn't want to be reminded that she belonged to someone else.

Taking a deep breath and putting on a strong, straight face, he finally turned around to face her, "Liza, what are you doing here? Where's your snobby _der Klugscheißer_?"

"Watch your mouth," Elizabeta snapped, "He's your cousin too."

The Prussian rolled his eyes, "I'd rather he wasn't."

"Well that's too bad," She told him, "Because you don't get to pick who your family is."

That, Gilbert could agree with. It was too bad that he couldn't choose his own family members. He'd keep his parents and his brother, but he'd dump Roderich as a cousin. He'd also make sure Eliza wasn't his cousin either. If she was no longer his cousin then they could…

"Gilbert," her sing-song voice echoed in his ears, "Yu-whoo! Are you listening to me?"

"What?" He jerked his head up and stared into her eyes, completely lost in the moment.

"I said," Elizabeta rolled her eyes, "are you going to get that?" She pointed to the old woman who was holding out a bag with rolled sausage in it. She laughed as Gilbert fidgeted with his wallet and paid the lady, taking the dull green bag with his order.

Her constant laughter made him blush. He waved off the incident, "I saw that she was there, you know. I was just wanted to see how long she'd stand there but, you know, that'd be rude according to you."

"Whatever," She said, not believing a word he was saying. She glanced down the cobble street crowded with people carrying bags and backpacks. She sighed with a smile, lovingly observing the scene. Turning back to Gilbert she said, "Do you remember when we were kids and used to chase each other at the market?"

How could Gilbert forget? He remembered everything the two did as children. He loved when Elizabeta came from Hungary to visit him. She was such a tomboy back then and the two often got in trouble. They regretted none of it though. Every little prank and foolish action was worth it.

"I remember the time we found a stand that was selling apples," She smiled, looking at a venue across the street selling the shiny, red fruit. The sun made her tender face glimmer radiantly, "We grabbed as many apples as we could and chucked them at each other."

"Yeah," He mimicked her soft smile, "The vendor got so mad at us."

"So did our parents!" She laughed, "They were left paying a hefty bill."

Gilbert grinned at the ground, "I got grounded for a month."

"Really?" She looked at him surprised, "I only got grounded for a week. You're parents are strict though."

The Prussian shrugged, "Where do you think West gets it from?"

Elizabeta frowned, "You've always been the black sheep of the family." She hated to admit it, but it was his loner aura that made her love him so much. When he was younger he was arrogant (he still was) and she loved pushing his buttons. But now she appreciated him for so much more than that.

She missed the days when they were younger. Those were simpler days…

)()()()()(

"Gilbert! Get your butt out of your room! Your cousin is here!" His mother's voice rang down the hall from the front door. Gilbert sluggishly dragged himself away from his bed where he was sitting, writing a story about his awesome self. He grumbled as he was finally getting to the good part where he slayed the dragon and saved the town; making everyone like him and think he was a fantastic hero.

The eight year old peeped around the corner to catch a glimpse of his six year old cousin taking her rain coat off. It had been pouring all day and her pink rain boots were covered with wet mud at the bottom. Her father directed her to take them off as to not get any dirt on the brownish tan carpet. She followed his advice cheerfully.

When she took her pink boots off, leaving only her tiny pure white socks, she looked up and down the hall to see her albino cousin poking his head out behind the corner. She gave a toothy smile, though one of her pearly whites was missing, and waved, "_Szia_, Gilbert! I losted a tooth, see!?"

"Oh," Gil blushed but shook it off, "Yeah, well, I lost three last month. Yeah!"

"What's only because you got punched in the face at school…" A little, six year old Ludwig casually crossed him from behind.

"No, I didn't!" Gilbert pushed his blond brother from behind, "Shut up!"

"Gilbert!" His mother saw the whole thing, "If you're going to behave this way I'll send you back to your room. Apologize to your brother."

The little Prussia rolled his deep red eyes and mumbled his "I'm sorry" while holding a hand out for his brother to grab. He pulled the blue eyed boy up and bowed his head, turning back for his room. He was annoyed to have been so embarrassed; by his brother, his mother and himself. He no longer felt like visiting with his cousin.

Elizabeta couldn't have cared less. If she did feel anything, it was quiet sadness for her older cousin. She skipped after him, following him into his room, "So what are you doing, Gil?"

The albino looked behind him, surprised she had followed. Feeling a sudden urge for redemption he grinned widely and said with pride, "I'm working on a story about the Awesome Me!"

"Awesome you?"

"Yeah!" Gilbert showed her the lined paper, dressed with crooked words, "I'm going to be a writer one day! I'll publish a series of books all about the awesome me!"

His cousin blinked, taking it all in, "Do you think people are going to want to read a book all about you?"

The young tyke was shocked and offended, "Of course they will! Who wouldn't want to read about the awesome me!? I'm awesome!"

"Well, I know what I want to be when I'm all growed up." Elizabeta smiled happily with self-assurance.

"What?"

"I'm gunna be a man!"

Gilbert blinked for a moment. He was partially stunned at what he was hearing. Was she joking? She couldn't be serious. He burst out laughing, "You can't be a man when you grow up! You're a girl!"

"Why not!?" She yelled back, throwing a fit with her hands balled into fists.

"I told you why!" He shouted back with a cocky smile, "Because you're a girl! Only boys can become men; girls become women."

"I don't want to be a woman!" She stomped her foot harshly. Her eyes were beginning to swell with tears. She was angry that she could not defy the odds of her gender.

Gilbert didn't see what the problem was. He found her hissy fit rather puzzling and questioned her on it, "So? What's the big deal?" Had he acted more on thought than impulse he might've taken advantage of her emotions to tease her more.

"Because I'm an ugly boyish girl." Eliza stared solemnly at the floor, giving up her thrashing fit, "I make a better boy than girl."

Gilbert scoffed, "You're not ugly you stupid girl! You're not ugly at all! You're…" He stopped and blushed as she stared at him with quivering, surprised eyes. Looking away he couldn't find the bravery to continue.

)()()()()(

TWELVE YEARS LATER

Gilbert sat at his computer, typing furiously on his blog. He was still writing stories about himself, but he now had an audience online. It wasn't a very big crowd but he still enjoyed the reviews; even the flames. He was still encouraged to be an author and had taken up language studies at his university. His parents did not entirely approve of his choice, but were happy enough that he was attending postsecondary.

After posting his next chapter he surfed the net looking at pictures of Italy. Becoming tired of life in Germany he'd convinced his brother, who would be starting university in the following year, to study abroad with him. There was one other reason why he desperately needed to escape. Elizabeta.

The young, self-proclaimed 'ugly' Hungarian girl had since blossomed into a charming, beautiful young woman with long, luscious brown hair and sparkling emerald eyes. Her skin was pale and smooth and the wonderful scent of her rose perfume clung to her everywhere. Just the thought of her long delicate legs sent shivers up Gilbert's spine.

Elizabeta was staying with them as she attended a German private school. Her parents had decided that was the best choice for her of all the schools in the "Hun" nations. The decision had meant that Gilbert and Ludwig now had to share a room. Gilbert both loved and hated the outcome. It meant he could tease his little brother more often and annoy him, but also meant he had to put up with his brother's strictness. Luckily for the Prussian, he'd gotten used to it. Despite their estranged relationship he adored his younger brother and, despite his behaviour, enjoyed the stern blonde's company.

Gilbert didn't like to run, but sometimes knew he had to. This was one of those circumstances where he just couldn't win. Flicking his monitor off he waltzed into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. He was starving and craving something sweet.

When he reached the tiled room he was flabbergasted to find his cousin there. Blinking with surprise he stammered out, "Elizabeta, w-what are you doing in here?"

"Well, duh," The eighteen year old leaned against the counter, "I live here too, you know."

"But I thought you were heading back now," He stumbled on. The school year was coming to a close and Elizabeta had graduated high school. She had applied to Freie Universität Berlin, one of the best universities in Europe, and was accepted.

"Yeah, but not until next week." She told him as she took a sip of lemonade. The hair on the back of Gilbert's neck stood on end as he watched her throat bounce up and down while she chugged the glass. He bit his tongue, fighting his manly urge to rush to her and kiss that neck.

He wasn't sure when, how or why it started but as time went on he had become more and more attracted to his cousin. He couldn't tell a soul about it, even his brother, because the practice of incest was dangerously taboo in Germany. _Der inzest_, they'd say. _Inzestu__ö__s_. They'd be shunned from society.

Pushing out a fake growl he pretended to be annoyed, and walk to the fridge adjacent from her. He opened it up and rummaged around for something to drink. Cocking his head back to her from the cold box compartment he narrowed his brows, "Did you take the last of the lemonade?"

"I did."

"Why?" He was irritated for real this time. Had his parents bought that lemonade he might've ignored the lack of the sweetly bitter beverage but since he'd bought it with his own money he expected to be able to enjoy it. First he'd caught Ludwig in it, then his mom, now his cousin. He wondered what the point was in even buying the drink if he could hardly get a chance to drink it.

Sensing his heightened anger she frowned, "Geez Gil, you need _ein gutten fick_."

Gilbert stared wide-eyed. Did she just suggest he get laid? He knew his cousin was fearless in her words but he never thought a perky virgin would tell him he needed a good fucking. Glazing his eyes over her body he commented internally to himself what he wouldn't give to have her _blasen_ his _de fl__ö__ten_. The mental image he was projecting of her sliding down his leg in front of him, rubbing at his vital region was almost too much to handle. Oh how he wanted to _deflorieren_ her, right here, right now.

Picking up where he left off, the picture of her hovering around his lower body still in his mind, he grumbled and complained about his lost lemonade.

"If it's such a big deal," She held the cup out to him, "Then take it back."

Gilbert stared at the long, plastic white cup in her hand. He could see water specks outlining where her lips had touched. He desperately wanted to grab the cup and lick those water stains but waved the cup away, "Why bother now? You've already soiled it with your germs." _Your lovely tasting germs_.

Elizabeta rolled her eyes, "It's still lemonade you ass."

"Fine," He reached his arm out to take the glass, "Give it here."

She pulled back, "No, not with that tone."

Gilbert growled, "First you say you'll give it to me, now you won't. Who's the ass now?"

"I have a better idea," Before he could question her she took a sip of the lemonade, holding it in her cheeks. She pranced over to him and connected her lips with his. Gilbert was so astonished he almost forgot to swallow when she released the acidy drink into his mouth. He stumbled backwards.

"L-Liz…" He was leaning back awkwardly against the fridge. He couldn't fathom what had possessed her to kiss him like that. "What are you…? What? Why? How could you?"

"Oh please," She laughed, "You think I couldn't tell? You think I didn't notice you checking me out from behind or blushing when you saw the slightest bit of skin?" She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. The touch made him coy.

"Oh Gilbert," She smiled as she kissed him again, "You're such a naughty boy…but I'm also a naughty girl."

Gilbert blushed deeply. Elizabeta often called him by his full name when she wanted to scold him, so it was strange to hear her say it in a different way. In a very playful, seductive way.

Continuing her stimulating grin, she shrewdly challenged him to kiss her back. At first he hesitated but as she continued to provoke him he fought back, "Alright, alright!" He threw his lips at hers and caught her in a deadbolt kiss. He forgot all about the lemonade, no drink was as sweet as Elizabeta's kiss.

Finding his strength he pushed up and away from the fridge and wrapped his strong arms around her waist, holding her tightly to him. Hungering for more of her he inched his hands up her shirt. They glided across her skin like it was made of silk.

Though he could never tire of her kiss, he was impatient to taste the rest of her. He grazed across her cheek with his lips until he reached her neck just below. He sucked on it gently enjoying the sound of her muffled moans.

His whole body heightened with excitement when she whispered urgently in his ear, "Do it Gil, fuck me." He had been waiting for only God knew how long to hear those words. But fate wouldn't allow it.

At the sound of a door clicking they broke apart. Looking towards the front entrance they watched Ludwig enter the main hall followed by his parents. In their hands were grocery bags loaded with the week's food supply.

Eliza looked sternly at Gilbert, "You should go now."

Gilbert struck back, "Why? I live here too!" He wasn't going to be told by this vixen, no matter how lovely she was, where he could or couldn't go in his own house.

"Because," She lowered her eyes to his pants, "of that."

When Gil looked down he noticed a sizeable wet stain on his black jeans and an impending bulge throbbing for releasing, "_Scheiß_." He took off in a flash, before his parents could even say hello to him.

)()()()()(

TWO YEARS AGO

The car ride from Italy back to Germany had taken several hours. Gilbert had spent the whole time complaining and fidgeting in his seat while his brother chastised him for constantly wiggling out of his turn to drive.

"You know," Ludwig told him as he put the car in park in their driveway, "I should've just left you back in Nuremburg."

Gilbert smirked and punched his brother lightly in the arm, "But you would never do that to such an awesome brother like me, eh West!"

"Trust me, I was very tempted." Was the response he got.

It was nice to be home at last. It was also very sad. Gilbert wasn't just coming home with dirty clothes for his mom to clean; he was also coming home this year with his degree. He wouldn't be returning to the university in the fall with his brother. He was going to miss his brother and his housemates, Antonio, Feliciano and Romano. Hell, he'd even miss picking on Roderich.

At first Gilbert was annoyed and downright furious to find that his much hated cousin would be attending the Venetian university with them. Gilbert wondered if Roderich was doing this as some sort of punishment. When he made the claim, his cousin insisted that it was he, not Gilbert, who was being punished. He paraded around insisting he'd rather go to a school in Austria or even Great Britain if a university there had good enough courses, but in the end his father had put pressure on him to go to Italy.

At least Gilbert wouldn't have to put up with the Austrian's whining anymore. Swinging open his front door with enthusiasm he was met with a heartbreaking scene. There in his living room was Mr. Snobby Roderich. The sight beside him cheered up Gilbert a little bit. It was his better cousin from the other side of his family, Elizabeta.

While Gilbert had been attending university in Italy, Elizabeta insisted on visiting. She had come once or twice a year and made a solid connection with everyone in the shared apartment. Much to Gilbert's disappointment she found herself drawn to the Austrian. She was captivated by his majestic wonderfulness and his musical talent. The closer, it seemed, that she got to Roderich, the more distant she was to Gilbert. It saddened him deeply.

Having blamed the romantic atmosphere of Italy for the change in her personality he hoped to witness her usually spunky self. Bending himself over slightly, with his hands on his waist he gave them a cocky grin, "What's up losers? Why have you come to my house? Is it because you were so desperate to see my awesome face again?"

"Gilbert!" His mother chastised him, walking into the room behind him. Had he known she was there he probably would have refrained from speaking too harshly. Sensing he'd taken her warning she continued, "Roderich and Elizabeta have wonderful news for us."

"Like what?" Ludwig sat in a plush tan recliner chair. His voice sounded tired, hinting that he just wanted them to come out and say it so he could get some rest.

"We've decided to marry."

Gilbert almost stammered over where he stood. Did he hear that correctly? They're getting married? He was afraid to ask but needed to confirm this, "Y-your engaged?"

"Not quite," Roderich told him, "We only intend to marry. I still have my career to settle into first. After I've become more established in the world then we'll marry."

"So," Gilbert had more questions to ask. His fear was driving them out without even thinking, "There's always the possibility that you won't get married?"

His mother chided him again, "Gilbert, why are you so dead set against it?"

The Prussian paused, but was relieved to have his brother step in, "I won't deny that I find it strange. They may be from different sides, but they're still both our cousins."

"Yeah!" Gilbert stole his brother's concern and masked it as his own, "It's weird." He avoided the glare Elizabeta was given him. He didn't want or need to be reminded of the irony of his statement.

Wiping a speck of dust off his clean, ironed dress pants Roderich said, "It was Elizabeta's idea."

"Why'd you go along with it?" Gil yelled at him, fists balled up.

Everyone in the room blinked in shock. His mother was the first to address him, "Gilbert, what on earth has gotten into you?"

She wouldn't get an answer. Furious with both of his cousins he turned and dashed down the hall. He couldn't handle this. Not here, not now. What on earth was Elizabeta thinking? She was well aware of his feelings for her. Was she doing this to humiliate him?

)()()()()(

"So," she smiled as the crowd swelled around her at the street market, "Where are you headed now?"

"Home probably," He shrugged.

"Ah," She nodded, "I'm heading back to the hotel. Roderich is waiting for me."

Gilbert said nothing as there was nothing to be said. He stood their quietly until she volunteered him to walk her to the hotel. He grumbled and complained, but she hushed him. Sighing he dragged himself along until they reached her hotel a few streets away. He bid her goodbye and walked away leaving her at the lobby door claiming he had to get back. His parking time was soon to expire.

"Alright, alright," Elizabeta waved him off. She watched him walk away with a quiet, honest smile. She missed spending time with her excitable cousin. She felt awful for distancing herself from him but she knew she had to. She couldn't love him.

As she walked up the stairs, she recalled her own path to this point. How she'd desperately tried to change herself. She'd become more ladylike, wearing dresses and taking an interest in purses and make-up and perfume. She'd sought out the perfect gentleman for a husband and found one. She worried marrying Roderich would also be taboo because their connection via Ludwig and Gilbert, but was assured that it was fine. Her friends were jealous.

Pausing in front of her hotel room door she found herself disagreeing with them. She had most certainly grown fond of Roderich. It was more than fair to say she loved him. She thought he was the perfect man; he was talented and smart, and charming. She adored that about him. But there was no elusive spark. She swooned, but her breath was not taken away, her eyes sparkled but there was no electricity, she heated up, but she didn't melt. She loved Roderich, but she wasn't sure she was in love with him.

Putting her key into the door she squeaked it open and could hear Roderich talking to someone. She assumed he must be on the phone since no voice was responding back.

"Yes. Yes, Berlin." He told the person on the other line, "I believe they're staying at the house of a person I know."

Elizabeta raised a brow. Her interest was peaking.

"His name is Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt. He lives at…"

She frowned trying to understand why Roderich was giving the address of their cousin. But when Roderich mentioned Interpol on the phone everything became clear. "It was him," she whispered quietly to herself, "Roderich is the one who told Interpol about those two boys…"

Carefully shutting the door, she re-entered the hall and quietly tiptoed to the elevator, "I have to warn them."

* * *

End Notes:

The Austrian Hapsburg family had a habit of inbreeding (you know, royal family, strengthening the blood line, yadda, yadda) and it led to a lot of genealogical problems. The most infamous being the Hapsburg jawline. Inbreeding (in addition to war) led to the decline of their family. While the family survived post-dethronement after the First World War the last of the Hapsburg's, Otto van Hapsburg, died at the age of 98 in Vienna in 2011. He was buried with his royal relatives.

Translation Notes:  
Bis spatter! = See you later!  
der Klugscheißer = know-it-all / smartass.  
Der inzest – Incest  
Inzestuös – Incestuous  
ein gutter Fick (a good fuck/lay)  
Blasen (blow/perform fellatio)  
De flöte(n) (penis)  
deflorieren (deflower)  
Scheiß (shit, damn (it), crap)


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Hello my wonderful readers! The end is near...sort of. The first arc (yes, arc) is coming to a close. There are only three more chapters after this one before the second arc begins. So enjoy!

ALSO, I have a poll on my profile regarding the story and the second arc...please check it out.

* * *

It was raining heavily in Montreal when the officers in black tie suits came to Francis and Arthur's door. They were carrying portfolios with them with documented evidence of Matthew's whereabouts. Francis greeted them and guided them to the kitchen. He was quietly relieved to know that, despite his former mother-in-law being the one to contact Interpol, they were discussing the case with him first.

Inviting them to sit down beside his British partner, he asked them if they would like something to drink. They declined wanting to get down to business. With Arthur already enjoying a hot cup of tea and Francis nursing a glass of wine everyone was covered on beverages.

"Mr. Bonnefoy," The black haired agent next to Arthur took off his sunglasses. Francis couldn't fathom why someone would wear shades when it was dark, cold and raining outside. The fact didn't seem to bother Arthur one bit. The agent continued with his message, "A certain concerned citizen has been keeping us posted about your son. He was last noted to be in Germany."

The second agent who had been carrying the portfolio in his hands put it on the table and pulled out a collection of pictures. Each one was a secret shot of Matthew frolicking around different cities with a travelling companion, sometimes more than one. He added to his partner's report, "He's been seen in various countries with a young gentleman identified as Alfred F. Jones, the son of an American billionaire."

"Yes," Arthur took a sip of his English Breakfast tea, "We've met Alfred before. He's a new acquaintance of Matthew's. They met only about two or three weeks ago."

"Well this Alfred character is the one providing the funds for their getaway." The first agent told them.

"And his father hasn't done anything to stop him?" Francis finally added his own word. The wine glass in his hands was half full with a strong merlot and he was swirling it in his hands, letting the aroma of the fine liquor fill the room.

"His father is just as interesting in reclaiming his son as you are in getting back yours," The second agent said sternly. He narrowed his brow showing how his sharp grey eyes matched his fluffy, aging hair, "Of course Mr. Jones has another reason altogether as to why he wants his son back."

"This rendezvous is probably an embarrassment to him and his company." Arthur said without thought, "I bet his stocks have taken a hit. His shareholders won't want to be a part of a company run by an imprudent youth."

Both agents remained quiet, too discrete to confirm Arthur's supposition. They brushed it off choosing instead to focus on Matthew specifically.

"For the moment Matthew is stationary in Germany." The primary agent beside Arthur said, "We'll be intercepting soon, but he may flee. The two never stay in the same spot for more than a few days."

"We'd like to suggest," The second agent put forward, leaning forward in his seat with his chin on his hands. His arms were connected on a vertical diagonal on the table with his hands stemming out for his head to rest on, "that you make your way to Europe to confront him. Perhaps if you meet with him you can reason with him to come back home."

"Well," Arthur leaned back in his seat after he waited in vain for Francis to comment, "That's certainly an option."

The agent tried to provide some chilling motivation to the Frenchman, "We plan on telling your former mother-in-law the same thing." But Francis was unmoving. He sat there cold and silent, staring at the kitchen table, trying to understand why his son would run away from him.

A typical person who knew the story behind Matthew's parents would think the outcome obvious but Matthew had since come to terms with his father's adultery. It wasn't easy for the youngster, it never was, but Matthew wasn't the kind of child to carry hate in his heart for long. And besides, with the passing of his mother, his father was the only direct relative he had left – with the exception of his outer ring family members like grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

What had rebound them was his mother's funeral. Francis had refused to attend and Matthew, at first, had thought ill of him for it. But when he returned that night to find his father sobbing in his ensuite bathroom over the woman's death he realized that Francis had never stopped loving her.

The love Francis had for her was not the same he had for Arthur, and he understood that the more time he spent with the Brit. He wanted to woo the Englishman and make him tremble with passion, but not Élise. He didn't want to hide her under the covers of his bed; he wanted to show her off to the world. His love for her was one of pride and admiration.

This…strong, model Frenchwoman who played her role as mother and wife so well. He wondered when she had become so fragile. Had she always been this way? If she had he never noticed.

When she died he was resolved to build and keep strong his relationship with his son. He would be more attentive to him, shower him with more love, and praise him for his efforts. Most importantly, he'd be a father. A real, dependable father. He'd work to bridge this disparate family together.

That was why he couldn't understand Matthew's disappearance. After everything he'd done to pull them all together in a loving family. After all the remorse he'd shown for his ex-wife's fate. After he'd stayed put for so long with one partner, showing he was serious and committed. If Matthew hadn't believed any of it, why did it take him so long to act on it? Why did he appear to be fine with their lives? He had to know.

The gentlemen stood up from the table and Arthur guided them back to the front door. He thanked them for coming and offered them an umbrella. He laughed when they declined and commented on how, as a proud Brit, he'd do the same. It was Arthur's little joke that Englishman were born swimming in the rain.

After he'd shut and locked the door, Arthur walked back to the kitchen to find Francis standing there, looking grave and determined. Without flinching the Brit said to him, "I see you've come to a decision."

"Oui," Francis said, "We are going to Europe to find him."

"Shall I book tickets to Germany then?"

"Non," The Frenchman kept eye contact, "We are not going to Germany."

The Brit was confused. He raised a brow, "Then where exactly are we going?"

"We are going to France."

)()()()()(

Elizabeta ran down the street, her heart was racing in her chest. She'd been running ever since she'd gotten off the bus a few blocks ago. As she reached the front door of her cousin's home she hunched over to catch her breath. After a few heavy pants she lifted herself back up straight and rang the doorbell repetitively.

Gilbert answered the door. He looked surprised to see her. He also looked surprised by how messy she was. Her hair was fluffy and tangled and her face was pink with droplets of sweat running down it. Despite this, his still noticed how vibrant and green her eyes were.

"Elizabeta…" He stammered out. He wondered if she had forgotten to tell him something, or if he'd dropped something and she came all this way to give it to him. She had a habit of doing these kinds of things.

"I need to see them," She breathed, still trying to find a steady rhythm.

"Who?"

"You know who," She brushed past her cousin, "They're here aren't they?"

Again he asked, "Who?"

She spun around and glared hard at him, "Matthew and Alfred."

"Why would you think those two are here?" Gilbert asked, his voice a bit racy.

"Well for one," She told him, "You seem to know who _those two _are. If you didn't you'd be asking who the hell they are instead of saying they aren't here!"

Gilbert shrank back. Busted. That was another nasty habit his cousin had. She could read him like a book. He rubbed the back of his head and deflected his stare at anything but her. He could feel the nerves in his stomach growing.

"This is no time for secrets, Gilbert! I need to see them right now!" Her voice was rushed with urgency. Gilbert relented, seeing the panic in her eyes.

Before he could reveal their location, Alfred came out from the hall with a giant grin on his face, "Dude, I'm starving, don't you have anything to eat? Like a dozen hamburgers or something?"

"I'd like ice cream, please," A soft voice echoed from a room down the hall.

"Oh yeah!" Al perked up, "I'd like a tub of ice cream too! Preferably chocolate…no vanilla, no strawberry! Do you have Neapolitan?" He was too hungry to even notice the Hungarian standing there.

Gilbert and Eliza blinked simultaneously at the happy American. They were both too dumbstruck to say anything and stayed silent as Matthew joined Al.

The Canadian looked at his travel companion and asked, "Did you ask for ice cream too?" Without waiting for a response he looked at Gilbert, "We'll pay for…" He stopped. All four of them silently stared at each other.

Matthew tugged on Alfred's jacket and whispered to him, "If you're really certain about her and Roderich than maybe we should go."

Elizabeta finally regained her words and spoke up, "Um, excuse me! I…I just wanted to…oh how do I start this?"

"You can start," Alfred said bluntly, "By telling us if you're the one who called the cops on us?"

She dropped her head in remorse, "Well, yes and no." Her voice became pleading as she explained the situation, "I didn't know anything about this. Honestly, I don't. Or I didn't, until I heard Roderich on the phone."

Matthew and Alfred listened to her as she anxiously told them about what her fiancé had been doing. Taking a deep breath she said, "He called them again. I came to warn you that he told them he believed you were here."

Alfred raised a brow, "How do we know this isn't a trap?"

Matthew was confused and asked Al, "How would this be a trap if she's telling us Interpol is coming for us?"

"Because," He responded, "We'll say where we're going and she'll inform then and they'll snag us as soon as we get there."

Matthew was surprised Alfred had actually thought the possibility through, but Elizabeta quickly and carefully countered, "Then don't tell me where you're going!"

"Fine then," Alfred crossed his arms and nodded, "We won't tell you where we plan on going." He looked at Matthew and grinned, "Dude we should totally hide out in the Alps, no one will find us there. We can go skiing."

Matthew sighed and rubbed his cheek bones with his thumb and finger. Go figure, he thought to himself. One minute Alfred presses for secrecy, the next minute he unknowingly blabs their potential plans. With a disgruntled voice he said, "Alfred, why do you have to say something so smart, then follow it with something so stupid?"

The American blinked, "I don't get it, what's wrong?"

The Canadian sighed again, "You didn't want her to know where we're going, then you loudly suggested the Alps…don't you see the problem?"

Alfred frowned, "Not really."

"So you're going to Switzerland," Elizabeta butt in.

"Oh shit!" Alfred was now shocked and freaking out, "How'd you figure that out so quickly! The Alps are all over the place…right?"

Matthew answered with exhaustion, "But there's only one country renowned for the Alps. Take a guess, genius…"

"Oh," Al felt embarrassed and strangely dumb, "Dammit, should've thought of that."

"Thinking isn't really your thing," Matt confirmed to him.

"I'm not going to tell, if that's what you're thinking." The Hungarian brunette told them, "I'll even help you get there."

Alfred was a bit apprehensive but Matthew welcomed her help, "That would be very nice of you. Please don't tell Mr. Roderich, though. I hope we can trust you not to do that."

"Absolutely," She reassured the two, "Your secret is safe with me. In fact, I think it's very cool that you're running away together. Sometimes I wish I could run away."

Gilbert walked up to her and stood beside her. He glanced over at her wondering what she could mean by that. Did she want to run away by herself or maybe, with a certain somebody? He desperately wanted to ask, but knew that now wasn't the time. She was far more concerned with the wellbeing of his guests then she was with answering his questions.

)()()()()(

The rest of the day was spent packing and by night they travelled to Geneva by train. The ride took just over ten hours and they slugged out of their seats and onto the train platform at 7:15 am.

Alfred stretched, wishing they had taken an afternoon train instead. He glanced over to Matthew who was rubbing his eyes as he awoke to the bright sunlight. Lucky Matthew, thought Alfred. The Canadian slept easily and Alfred found himself thinking that, if it came to it, his companion could probably sleep through a nuclear war. Even still the blond from Montreal looked tired. He wasn't an early bird.

Gilbert was equally tired and grumbled his complaints as Eliza dragged him down the steel steps to the platform. She was carrying a suitcase packed with Gilbert's and her clothes. She had managed to rush back to the hotel and collect some clothes while Roderich was enjoying a cup of tea in the lounge. A young skilled pianist occupied his attention for a while, buying her some time.

When she finally grounded her cousin and scolded him for his complaints she looked to Alfred for the next plan of action.

They had discussed on the train what they might do when they arrive. Alfred wanted to see the Alps and believed that, with it being a remote area, they'd be able to avoid detection. Matthew wasn't as sure. "You'll have to use your debit card again," he argued to Alfred, "They can find us that way." Eliza, who had paid their fare as a repayment for all the trouble Roderich had caused, agreed. Alfred was disappointed, but Eliza assured that they would visit Lake Geneva near the mountains and that he'd get some wonderful pictures there.

Alfred was tinkering in his head when an idea popped into it. With enthusiasm he hammered his left fist into his right palm, "Hey guys, what about one of those hospice thingies?"

Gilbert blinked, "You want us to stay at a hospital?"

Eliza laughed, "I think he meant hostel."

Alfred shrugged, "Whatever, you get what I'm saying though, right?" He turned to tell Matthew about his brilliant idea but the Canadian was nowhere in sight. He spun around looking for the blond wearing a green, long sleeved shirt but couldn't find him. Once the crowd cleared from the platform section with a large tack board he noticed Matthew reading several notices that were posted. Alfred casually made his way over.

"Hey Mattie," He stood beside him, "Whatcha looking at?" He ran his eyes across the board, but didn't bother to read anything. It was all in French anyway. The only thing he could read was the sign above the board that read the name of the station: Geneva-Cornavin.

"The schedule," Matthew responded, "Some of these trains go to Paris." He looked at Alfred, "I was thinking of the possibility of going there next. I have a grandmother there. Maybe we could stay with her. She's a bit reserved but she's nice enough. She's my dad's mom."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Alfred asked. He was ready to wait for an answer but his growling stomach interrupted. "Geez, I'm starving. Don't they have somewhere to eat around here?"

Matthew looked at a sign with arrows pointing in every direction. He read it aloud, "There's a bakery, cybercafé, supermarket, food stands, cafes, bars, take your pick."

"How about a washroom?" Alfred asked.

"Well obviously," Matthew remarked, "Says on the sign they've got showers too."

"Excellent!" Alfred cheered, "I could use one of those!"

"I thought you were hungry?"

"I am," Alfred rubbed his tummy, "But I'm also smelly and gross. I feel so…ugh…European."

Despite how terribly rude the American's comment was, Matthew couldn't help but chuckle. He was feeling pretty dirty himself. Waving Elizabeta and Gilbert over he told them he and Alfred planned to have a shower and asked where they'd like to meet afterwards. Elizabeta made it clear that she was starving and wanted to eat so her and Roderich would find a nearby café.

They parted ways with Alfred promising they wouldn't be more than twenty minutes. As the two North Americans walked towards the bathrooms Alfred reached out for Matthew's hand but hesitated to grab it. He pulled back. Matthew looked at him with dejected confusion, "What's wrong?"

"I dunno," Alfred said, "Switzerland is law-crazy, you know. They might not like us holding hands."

Matthew nodded, "They are very strict, but I think Switzerland is very liberal on sexuality. I could be wrong though." They both decided it'd be better to refrain from holding hands.

The showers were tiny and Alfred undressed in the small cubicle before turning the water on. He left his shoes and socks in one of the lockers along with Matthew's. He was tempted to pull the Canadian in with him but chose not to, as to not draw unwanted attention.

Alfred found himself turning the hot water down twice as his skin was constantly heating up with the thought of Matthew naked in the shower with him. Was the rest of his body as soft as his face and hands? Alfred hoped so. Staring down at his hardening member he wondered if Matthew was a similar size. He envisioned himself brushing his hands along Matthew's torso, smoothening down towards his waist. He could almost feel the Canadian burrowing his head into his shoulders, breathing in slowly and cautiously as Alfred grabbed a hold of his…

"Al, are you done?" Matthew's voice was just outside the shower curtain.

"Oh, yeah," He responded with a jump, "Just give me a sec to throw on my clothes."

"Okay, I've got your shoes and socks out here." Matthew told him as Al peeked out to see the fully dressed travelling companion.

When they finally found Elizabeta and Gilbert they saw they talking with a young couple in the café at the end of the station. They were inside sipping hot beverages, one of which smelt like hot chocolate to Matthew. He thought of ordering one himself and asked the waitress for a hot mug when she arrived at the table for a follow up check. Matthew ordered a coffee with cream and sugar for Alfred since he spoke no French.

As they sat down Elizabeta quickly introduced them, "Oh hey you guys. These are my friends Vash and Erika."

"Hi" A stern looking Swiss man nodded swiftly. He had nothing more to say than that.

The young woman at his side, who was blonde with green eyes like her acquaintance was much friendly, "Hello, it's nice to meet you. What are your names?"

"Oh, I'm Alfred!" The American smiled brightly with pride, "Alfred F. Jones."

Matthew smiled sweetly as he sat down between Alfred and Elizabeta, "I'm Matthew Bonnefoy-Cartier."

She blushed, "Well, my full name is Erika Vogel, since we're being so formal. This is my brother Vash Zwingli."

Matthew and Alfred exchanged glances. They found it rather odd that two siblings had different last names. Sensing their confusion Vash told them, "My sister, she was adopted into our family. But she's still my sister so don't try anything with her or you'll be answering to me."

Elizabeta giggled uncontrollably before finally saying, "They're not likely to do that." She continued laughing to herself.

Gilbert was too concerned in scarfing down his morning bacon and eggs to bother contributing to the conversation. Alfred found himself staring at the plate, not noticing the sliver of drool running down his chin. He was starving like mad.

Matthew took notice and smiled at him, "I'm hungry too. When the waitress comes back I'll ask for something to eat. What would you like?"

"Bagel!" Alfred threw his hands in the air. Funny enough the waitress saw and came over to ask if everything was alright. Matthew took the opportunity to make a breakfast order. She jotted it down and took off for the kitchen. He then apologized for the rude interruption and asked Vash and Erika to continue.

"Oh," Erika looked down at her tea and stirred it with her parfait spoon, "I'm sorry, I really don't have anything else to say."

"They're going to France," Elizabeta tried to get the conversation going again.

"Oh really?" Matthew was now interested, "I was thinking of going there myself."

"Judging by your language skills, I'd say you're from there. Or, at the very least, have been there before." Vash told him.

"Quebec, actually," Matthew corrected him, "But I have family in France."

"I see."

"Now that that's been said," Matthew carried on, rather sheepishly, "I have a request if you don't mind. I understand completely if you don't want to or if it's out of the way. I just…you know what, don't worry about it."

"Just spit it out," Vash started coolly at him.

"Oh…um…" Matthew stuttered trying to find his words.

"It's okay, Matthew," Elizabeta placed a hand on his arm, "Vash is very efficient. He may seem scary but he's really not."

"Dude," Alfred broke in, "I've got a question too. Are you allowed to wash your car? Because someone told me you're not allowed to wash your car in Switzerland."

Vash glared at Alfred as though he were a nutcase and looked back to Matthew, waiting for a response. Matthew paused, fidgeting his fingers before finally saying, "Can you deliver a message to my grandmother? I'd like to see her while I'm in Europe, but I'm not sure if she's available to see me. She's usually pretty sick. She used to live on the eastern side of the country but now she lives closer to Paris because most of her medical exams are done there."

"We'd be happy to if you give us her address." Erika shot a quick smile at Vash, signalling to him to say nothing. She knew he could be brutal in his responses.

"Wow," Matthew gleamed with hope, "That's great. Thank you so much. I'll just write a quick message with her address on a piece of paper for you to take." He wrote down the message as the waitress brought his stack of pancakes and Alfred's bagel with cream cheese. He handed it to Vash who just stared at it. Feeling slightly intimidated he pushed it past the Swiss man to his sister who gladly accepted it.

"Do you have a number we can reach you at?" She asked politely.

"Gil's got his cellphone, right Gil?" Elizabeta slapped her albino cousin on the back, nearly causing him to choke on his bite of eggs. Coughing he chastised her before saying, "Yeah, yeah, I got it." He quickly spat out the number for Erika to write down before going back to his meal, choosing to ignore the snuff made by Vash.

They finished their breakfast meal and watched Vash and Erika depart. Their train was scheduled to leave at 8:30 am and it was now five minutes before eight. Matthew thanked them again for their kind service and wished them luck on their trip. Elizabeta echoed his wish as she waved goodbye. All they could do now was wait.

)()()()()(

The call came at 7:12 that evening. Alfred, Elizabeta, Gilbert and Matthew had just finished enjoying a casual dinner, which Gilbert was left reluctantly paying for. He handed Matthew the phone announcing it was Vash.

Matthew grabbed the little blue device and placed it to his ear. He unconsciously made the effort to stand under a streetlight, though it wasn't turned on as it was still light outside. Speaking into the phone he started, "Hello? This is Matthew."

"Hey, we gave your grandmother the message. She says you can visit." Vash wasted no time getting down to business. He added, "You're lucky she happened to be in the general area we were visiting because – ack!" Matthew could hear Erika in the background telling her brother to be nicer.

"That's great news!" Matthew smiled into the phone, "Thank you so much! We'll be on our way shortly."

Alfred didn't need to wait for the news to be relayed to him as he was standing close enough to hear. He gave Matthew a thumb up as the Canadian thanked Vash for a second and final time before hanging up.

"We can go." Matthew said with a hop in voice. He looked nearly teary-eyed and it made Alfred want to race over and hug him. But the American was still cautious. If it was Francis's mother they would be seeing would it still be safe? He shrugged it off. Obviously Matthew would know better, it IS his grandmother, after all.

Their bags were already packed from when they had left Germany. All they needed to do now was board another train at the station headed for Paris. The next one left at 10pm. They grabbed a cab leaving the beautiful scene of the Alps in the background. The only thing Matthew relented on was not having the chance to see the tall waterspout, an iconic image of the city.

They waited by the station and when the train arrived they hugged Gilbert and Elizabeta goodbye. The two Germanic cousins would not be continuing with them.

"I'd like to," Elizabeta told them, "But Roderich is looking for me. I need to go back to him."

Gilbert frowned at her, disappointed that once again, she was choosing _that guy_ over him. The Austrian had texted Gilbert several times during the day demanding the whereabouts of Elizabeta. Finally she'd called him and told him she was fine and that she had to make a quick detour.

Elizabeta gave them both one more final hug and promised to stay hushed over their location. Alfred shook Gilbert's hand and Matthew nodded to the Prussian.

The whistle blew signalling it was time to go. Matthew stepped onto the train first handing his ticket to the conductor to be scanned. Alfred waved goodbye before giving over his own ticket. They found their seats near a window facing the platform. Elizabeta ran to the window and waved again. The two North Americans would miss her. Alfred would miss fooling around with Gil. He really enjoyed having another eccentric personality to hang out with.

But as much as he liked Gilbert, he loved Matthew. He was firmly decided that he wouldn't leave the Canadian. Not ever. Not if he could help it. It was rash, it was bold, but it was what he wanted. As far as he was concerned his dad and his business could go to hell.

The train blew a second whistle warning those on the platform that the train was going to start. Elizabeta backed away from the window and joined Gilbert. As the train pushed away from the platform they watched their two new friends get smaller and smaller and soon the silver bullet was speeding for France. They would be in Paris soon where they were eagerly awaited for.

* * *

END NOTES:

~As Matthew said, Switzerland has become more and more accepting to homosexuality in recent decades.  
~Erika is one of the many names Hima considered giving Liechtenstein in his 2010 blog.  
~Switzerland's human name is actually spelt Basch, but I decided to stick with the more fan-orientated "Vash"


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

A/N: Serious dramatic build up here.

Plus, don't forget to vote on the poll on my profile page if you haven't yet. It's regarding the second arc of the story.

* * *

Matthew took in a great whiff of the air. It had been a long time since he'd been in the country of love. The streets of Paris were jammed with locals and tourists shopping, visiting cafes and enjoying the sights of the great metropolitan city.

The corner mime brought back memories of Matthew's childhood. He first visited the city as a shy four year old and the mimes scared the hell out of him. He used to hide behind his papa's leg and shudder there until the silent actor went away. As he'd gotten older he became bolder and at seven he even dared to kick one in the shin.

That was the summer before his parents split up. He'd only visited the western European country twice since then; once for the funeral of his grandfather and another for a general family visit. The latter was three years ago and he'd taken the opportunity to bicycle out to Vimy Ridge not far away, where one half of his ancestors fought for the freedom of the other half.

He made a note to himself to convince Alfred to go with him to see the great Canadian monument again. After all this running away he could use a moment of strength to draw from. Seeing the calm, but steady face of the woman personifying Canada looking saddened for the loss of her men, but determined to honour and remember their sacrifice would surely toughen his soul.

"Dude," Alfred's whinny voice caught Matthew's attention, "Where the hell is it?" He was twirling around using his hand as a sun visor trying to catch a glimpse of something Matthew assumed was in the sky.

"What are you looking for?" He asked.

"The Eiffel Tower," Alfred continued looking around, not paying much attention to Matthew's stare, "It's got to be around here somewhere."

"Non, you silly fool," Matthew laughed, "We're in the Marais. We're nowhere near the Eiffel Tower. Not to mention it's being blocked by all the tall buildings in front of us."

All around them where historic buildings with large chalky blocks and the streets below were made of polished purplish-grey blocks. Timely street lamps dotted the streets filled with tiny stores some of whom must have been there for a good hundred years or more. It felt like being transported back to the late eighteenth century. The view reminded Matthew somewhat of Old Montreal, only more upscale.

"Okay, so where is your grandma being treated again?" Alfred asked.

"Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital" Matthew told him.

"And this is…?"

"Across the river."

Alfred sighed, "Of course it is. Everything is always _across the river._" He was having painful memories of navigating Venice and the frustration of trying to get there.

Tuning into his companion's thoughts Matthew assured him it'd be easier this time. "If we grab a taxi," he added, "It should only take about ten minutes." He pointed to a wide building that resembled an eighteenth century chateau, "Over there. That's the National Archives. We can call for a taxi from there."

"Okay dude," Alfred shrugged and followed, "But you're going to have to do all the talking because the only words I know in French are _Bon-jar _and _pour-lay vew_." He frowned when Matthew burst out laughing, "Not funny dude."

"Sorry," Matthew held his stomach, trying to fight the tears forming in his eyes from laughing so hard, "Or should I say, _Je m'excuse_."

The American pouted, "Shut up, Mattie, you're a jerk." He became angrier as Matthew continued to puff out little giggles of laughter and finally he brushed past the Canadian saying, "C'mon, let's go."

Matthew bounced happily behind him, "Pitou, Pitou, Ou est Pitou?" He broke out laughing again.

"Seriously dude, I love you and all, but I won't hesitate to hit you." Alfred grudgingly led the way into the building.

When the cab arrived Matthew handed the driver his grandmother's address. It wasn't far from the hospital. She had to be nearby just in case something bad happened to her. They passed the Pont d'Austerlitz Bridge over the Seine River and crossed paths with the hospital itself, with is large grey dome and clock tower peek pointing towards the sky. Matthew commented to Alfred that it was here that Princess Diana was pronounced dead.

"Cool," He said in awe, "Wait, what country was she from again?"

Matthew stared in shock, but grumbled when Alfred laughed waving his hands, "Just kidding, just kidding, I know, I know."

As they pulled up to the classic looking building, only five stories tall, Alfred wondered aloud if she had a view of the Eiffel Tower. Matthew rolled his eyes, "What is with you and that tower?"

"Dude, it's an icon!" Alfred exclaimed as he carried both of their bags, "It's like France's version of Lady Liberty, only less cool."

Turning around Matthew said, "You know France has a version of the Statue of Liberty too, right?"

"Yeah," Alfred shrugged, "And we have a version of the Eiffel Tower. It's in Vegas; you should see it some time."

Matthew ignored the comment, since Alfred clearly didn't understand what he was talking about. It didn't seem to occur to the American at all that France's Liberty Statue was just as old as America's. In fact, Paris had quite a few of them lying around the city.

Carting their luggage up into the lobby, Alfred was relieved to see they had finally encountered an apartment building in Europe with a working elevator. He pressed the button with a sigh of joy, waiting for the caged cart to drop to their level. When it did they entered and closed the iron grid behind them. The elevator was old fashioned but efficient and got them to the fourth floor in no time.

Matthew took his own bag this time and walked down the corridor with Alfred behind him. When he reached the door he realized this would be his first time in his grandmother's new apartment since she'd moved from the other side of the country. Taking a deep breath he pushed the bell to signal his arrival.

A frail old lady opened the door. Her hair may have been going greyish white but her eyes were as blue as Matthew remembered. He knew it was from his father's side of the family that he had gotten his lovely locks and dazzling ocean blue eyes. He'd known of course, because his father and French relatives went to great pains to remind him.

"Bonjour _mémère_." Matthew smiled. As a little boy he'd referred to here as '_mamie_' but as he got older she disapproved of the cutesy boyish word. He felt that calling her _grand-maman_ or _grand-mère_ was too formal so he chose the fuller nickname instead. He still, however, called his Anglo-Quebec grandmother _mémé_ without trouble.

"Mathieu," She kissed each of his cheeks once before hugging him. "_Bienvenue_. Come, come." She urged him through the door, only stopping to give a quick disapproving glance at a sheepish Alfred.

"I hope you don't mind mémère, but I was hoping to just drop my stuff off and show Alfred the city." He said placing his Team Canada duffle bag on the couch.

"Okay, okay," She was just as rushed pushing him out the door as she was pulling him in, "I'll make a good supper for you. Now go, _Vas-y_!"

Alfred barely had time to walk through the frame of the entrance when Matthew grabbed his stuff, tossed it on the couch, and dragged him back out by the hand. Dazed and confused he stuttered, "What, whoa, dude…hey…"

"I want to show you the city," Matthew continued to pull him back towards the elevator. He was still holding Alfred's hand. The American blushed trying to ignore it, though he secretly enjoyed it. It was the first time in their journey that Matthew had been the one to reach out for _his_ hand.

)()()()()(

The Champ-Elysées was crowded with all sorts of people. There were little European cars speeding up and down the street shared with the infamous, but bulky, scooters. Matthew and Alfred could hardly find a person without a shopping bag in hand as they walked past the Grand Palais with its glass dome off the Place du Clemenceau. Matthew stopped him and acknowledged the building.

"On the other side of that building there," He gestured towards it, "There's a corner called _Place du Canada_." He smiled brightly with pride, "They put a bust there of Samuel Champlain. Do you know who he was?"

"Not a clue," Alfred stared blankly. He kept quiet figuring Matthew would give him the answer.

"He's the man who founded Quebec City. He also got settlements going in Acadie, or in English, Acadia."

"Cool," Alfred didn't really understand, but since he had little interest in history – other than war and other manly stuff, he didn't really care. He knew it was important to Matthew so he pretended to be interested. What Alfred really wanted to see (other than the Eiffel Tower) was still far ahead.

They stopped in several shops along the way to grab treats from bakeries or try on some clothes. Alfred wanted to try some French crème brulée and Matthew enjoyed a _tarte tatin_. He requested some vanilla ice cream be added to the side of his upside down apple tart. In the end, Alfred ended up eating most of the cold creamy add-on.

It was nearing the early evening as they reached the Arc de Triomphe. Alfred attempted to beat the traffic circling the great arch but it was just too busy at this time of hour. He crossed his arms and pouted. He really wanted to get up close to it.

"Geez," He looked down the main boulevard, "This street has so many lanes." He counted them. There were eight in total.

From where they were standing they could just make out the golden outline of a rectangle on the ground beneath the Arc. Alfred stuck his index finger towards it, pointing it out, "Dude, what's that?"

"It's their hall of fame." Matthew said bluntly.

Alfred frowned, "Seriously? That's sad. I mean, I knew French actors were bad and all…" Matthew's muffled laughter told him he'd be played again, "Jesus, Matthew."

Matthew stopped laughing to properly explain, "It's the body of an unknown soldier from the First World War. The French placed it there to commemorate the dead."

"Wow," Alfred said with a sparkled fascination to his voice, "Most famous dude in Paris and no one knows his name. But hey, it's pretty lucky to be buried there. If I could, I'd totally be buried in Mount Rushmore."

"What…money can't buy that?" Matthew jested with sarcasm.

"Nah," Alfred mistook the mockery, "Too bad though."

)()()()()(

Alfred had spent so much time staring up at the great tower that his neck was beginning to feel stiff. The culture iron structure rose high above the city of Paris pointing towards the sky. It was 975 feet (or 297 metres) taller than the nearby thirty-two hundred year old obelisk imported from Luxor, Egypt in 1833.

"It's bigger than I thought," Alfred could barely breathe. The massive structure was the equivalent to an eighty (give or take) story building. The American found himself imagining it mixed together with the high rising condos and offices of New York City. This poor piece would be almost lost on the skyline. It looked better here in the open.

"They call her _La dame de fer_" Matthew commented, watching a plane flying past in the distance, "The Iron Lady."

Alfred looked at him with confusion, "I thought the Iron Lady was that British chick."

"Oh," Matthew glanced over, "You're thinking of Margaret Thatcher. No, no, in France the Iron Lady is the Eiffel Tower."

Looking back at the tower Alfred inquired, "We can go up there, right?"

"For a pretty penny," Was Matthew's response.

Looking up from the bottom, the iron puddle looked like an oil ridge platform in the middle of the ocean sky. They found an elevator at the base and boarded it to the second floor. As they rose Matthew recounted how, in the 1960's, the mayor of Montreal had tried to convince former French President Charles de Gaulle to dismantle the Eiffel Tower and have it moved across the Atlantic to be used for Expo '67.

Alfred frowned, "They'd never do that."

"They almost did," Matthew smiled knowingly, "But the company who owned the tower vetoed it because they were worried the tower would never make its way back."

"I can't see Canada keeping the tower, as cool as it is," Alfred stepped out of the lift as it reached its destination.

"Oh, it wasn't Quebec they were worried about," Matthew told him, "It was their own government. They thought the French government wouldn't allow the tower to be built on its original grounds."

"Hmmm," Alfred stopped to think about it as he passed _Le Jules Verne _restaurant. Going off track he said, "You know what I think?" Matthew halted to listen, "I think we should go to the observation deck."

His Canadian counterpart smiled, "Agreed. The view is wonderful."

Finding another lift they travelled up to the highest peak, 279 metres above ground level, to take in the entire city below. From the top they could see the greyish waters of the Seine River with its connecting bridges. In front of them rested the long, rectangular _Le Champ de Mars_, a splendid park ending with the _É__cole Militaire_, an old military academy built in the mid-18th century. Behind them on the other side of the river was the _Jardin du Trocad__é__ro_ with the _Palais de Chaillot_ and its parallel J curved wings heightening its beauty. Further beyond was the giant park, _Jardin d'Acclimatation_. With the exception of a few tall building and a gold domed church the landscape of buildings below looked like white, cracked earth with a few blotches of green space.

Alfred was slightly disappointed, "You get better views on the Empire State building."

"Yeah right," Matthew frowned following the American back to the lift, "I've been up there. Feels like being stuck in the middle of a Tetris game where all the pieces are those long, straight boxes."

"Well, whatever," Alfred shrugged, lining up behind a group of tourists waiting to head back down to the second floor. When the doors of the lift opened he managed to make enough space for him and Matthew to squeeze in. They exited and weaved through the crowd to get to the elevators to the main floor and back outside.

As they walked away from the great iron tower to return to Matthew's grandmother's abode Alfred was struck with a fantastic idea. His eyes shimmering from excitement he said with an upbeat voice, "Dude, this is the perfect place!"

Matthew turned around to question him, "Perfect place for what?"

"To kiss!" Alfred's blunt suggestion nearly knocked Matthew off his feet. He stood their wide-eyed in surprise, utterly speechless. Stuttering, he responded, "t-t-to kiss?"

"Yeah!" Alfred beamed as though his idea was the greatest thing ever, "We've been together long enough."

"Barely a month!" Matthew shot back, with more concern than anger.

Alfred skipped over to him, keeping the smile on his face, "What's stopping you?"

"You don't even know if I'm gay…" Matthew looked at the ground beneath him, trying to hold back the massive blush sweeping across his face.

"Sure I do," He could hear the enthusiasm in Alfred's voice continue, "I mean, you would've run away in Germany if you weren't. You know I like you."

Sure, Matthew thought to himself, Alfred has this certain charisma to him that makes him approachable and almost appealing but, "Me choosing to stay doesn't mean I'm –" He propped his head up to face Alfred, but found himself locked in a kiss. A real kiss. He'd never had one before.

The massive blush on his face turned a shade deeper as he pulled away from Alfred's face. Verbal questions and commands raced through his mind as he tried to collect himself. He had just been kissed…by a guy. He found himself shuddering inside, remembering the feeling of Alfred's moist lips on his and the light pressure of having those lips pushing into his.

Feeling his legs begin to gel he suggested the two go back to his grandmother's. He needed sometime to calm down and go over what just happened. He needed to sort out his feelings.

Alfred, looking discouraged and regretful at Matthew's dazed state, frowned and agreed. Had he been wrong?

)()()()()(

They had planned to go to Lyons where Interpol's International Headquarters was located but a last minute call had them flying to Paris. An old friend of Francis's now working with the _Police Nationale_ at the Ministry of the Interior had told the couple that a phone call had been put forward with information that Matthew and Alfred were in Paris. So off they went.

After stopping at the Ministry department across from the _Élysée Palace_, where the French President lived near the Champ Élysée, Francis invited Arthur to view one of Paris's most valuable landmarks.

"Isn't it wonderful, cheri?" He was in better spirits knowing a plan of action was being made to regain his wandering son.

"Yes, yes," Arthur sipped on a glass of white wine. He would have preferred a pint of beer but Francis would never allow it, not while in the presence of the majestic Eiffel Tower. It was too unsophisticated he claimed. Even so the beer in France was terribly weak in Arthur's opinion.

They were enjoying a picnic on the grass of the Champ de Mars, a checkered spread beneath them. A weaved picnic basket rested on the ground next to them filled with bread, cheese, some fruit and a bottle of wine. It was part of the "equal partnership." If Arthur chose the activity, Francis chose the place or vice versa. Francis wanted to see the Eiffel Tower so Arthur figured a picturesque spot on the giant park lawn would give them a wonderful view. A bite to eat just added to the relaxing aroma.

After a small chat about European economics they found themselves without much to say. The air was filled with tourists chatting in all different languages, children running on the grass screaming and laughing, and a group of teenagers tossing a Frisbee around.

Francis was entranced by the mighty structure in front of them. Why? Arthur didn't know. Francis used to live in Paris with a window view to the iron puddle. Perhaps he just missed seeing it. Though observing the same thing day after day would get tiring in Arthur's mind. The Brit was more interested in the scuttling crowd going in and out of the Eiffel Tower. Each one probably had a story – he imagined where they were from and what they did. He also imagined how much better he was than all of them; not that he'd ever tell any of them that. Despite the wisdom and serenity that age brought, Arthur Kirkland could still be full of himself at times. Not that he cared, he was a British gentleman, a descendant of the men who ruled the seas and created the largest Empire the world had ever seen. He had the right to be proud.

While scoping out the tourists, a pair of blondes caught his attention. He blinked a few times. They were still there. He rubbed his eyes. He couldn't be seeing this right. When their images refused to fade Arthur could only conclude that they were not mirages. They were real. In the distance were Matthew and Alfred F. Jones.

"Uh…um," Arthur tugged the white dress shirt his partner was wearing, "Francis…"

The Frenchman hummed dreamily, "Oui, mon cheri?"

"Y-you…might want to look over there." Arthur pointed towards the two boys. Francis had no choice but to follow his finger. The Brit's voice sounded absolutely dumbfounded. When Francis's gaze met up with Arthur's invisible line he gawked.

"Mathieu!?" He jumped up from the blanket, astounded to see his son standing there with the billionaire's boy.

"It appears he's still with Mr. Jones," Arthur had finally gathered his senses. He continued to watch Matthew who was giving Alfred a rather shocked stare. By the overly excited smile on Alfred's face, Arthur assumed the American had suggested something that wasn't quite up Matthew's ally.

The two continued to watch as Matthew stared at the ground then looked up. Nothing could have prepared Arthur and Francis for what happened. Their eyes went wide as they witnessed Alfred snatch a kiss from Matthew. It was short and simple and seemed innocent enough, but left Francis with a feeling of loss. He slipped back down into the checkered sheet, a forlorn look on his face, "He ran away…for love?"

"That's absurd," Arthur assured him, "He's just a kid." He threw a gesturing hand towards Alfred, "He barely even knows the fellow." But Francis could not be consoled.

"The plan is still in action," The Brit told him, taking another quick swig of his wine, "We'll ask him about it when he's back in our hands." He could see though, that Francis was lost in his own despairing thoughts.

)()()()()(

When Alfred and Matthew returned to the apartment there was a large spread across the table. Potatoes, baguettes, muscles cooked in dry white wine, Vichy carrots garnished with parsley and chicken flamed in brandy with mushrooms and baby onions.

Matthew and his mémère said grace _en fran__ç__ais_ and passed the dishes back and forth. They both enjoyed a modest sized plate, while Alfred ate nearly everything that was left. After giving the American an eerie eye, Matthew's grandmother looked towards her grandson, "Mathieu, how is your _é__cole_?"

Alfred shot his head up from his plate, "Matthew has E-coli?"

"No you idiot," Matthew glared at him, "She's asking how my school is."

"Oooooh," Alfred went back to eating.

Matthew went back to conversing with his grandmother, "It's good, mémère. I was on the hockey team back in the fall. I think I'll sign up again. We did really well."

"Ice hockey?"

"Yeah mémère, _ice hockey_." Matthew hated when people called it that. In his view, the typical Canadian view, it was just hockey. It was just "hockey" because it was real hockey. It was played on the ice where hockey should be played, not confined in a gym or on a soft grassy field, but on the cold, hard ice of winter (or a chilled arena). Matthew's favourite style was pond hockey. He loved waking up early to meet his friends in the dead of winter to play on the St. Lawrence River.

"And your grades?" She continued bombarding him with questions.

"They're good." He told her, "Better than average."

"How good?"

"Um…" Matthew felt he'd done a decent job answering but his grandmother obviously wasn't satisfied. Perhaps she was hoping to brag to her friends and neighbours. He didn't have too much of a problem telling her more. He was very good at school. "I tend to get A's in most of my courses. My medium last year was an A…so…around 87 percent, I think."

"Good, good." She nodded as she took a bite of chicken.

"Frig, Mattie," Alfred had been eavesdropping, "You're smart."

The old woman stared him down with contempt, "And what about you, _Anglais_?"

He blinked, "No, my name is Alfred."

Matthew sighed, "Anglais means English." He gave his grandmother a stern look, signalling to her his wish for her to be nicer to his friend.

"Oh," Alfred grinned, "I don't go to school anymore. Graduated high school so I'm done."

She didn't look impressed. Smartly, she grabbed a carrot with her fork and smugly said, "Oh, so you just work then."

"Yeah," He answered, "With my dad at his company."

"Company?"

"Oui, mémère," Matthew took over, "Alfred is the son of David Jones, you know, the guy who owns CompuTech?"

His grandmother looked at him with a raised brow. Clearly she'd never heard of the company. Matthew wasn't too surprised. His grandmother was "old school". She didn't carry a cellphone nor did she have a computer. He felt obligated to fill her in, "CompuTech is a giant corporation in America. They're worth billions of dollars."

She looked from Matthew to Alfred and back to Matthew again. The young Canadian could see she was struggling to believe him. He tried not to be bothered by it. She was welcome to her opinion. She'd find out he was telling the truth sooner or later.

Matthew went back to his dinner, lining his utensil up to snatch another piece of chicken, the last one on his plate, when a door crashing open made him jerk his head towards the sound. He stood up with Alfred when loud French voices came storming into apartment.

"Dude, what the hell!?" Alfred shrieked as Parisian police officers surrounded the table pointing their guns at the apartment residents. They were particularly interested in staring the American down. Despite the language barrier Alfred figured they wanted him to put his hands up. That's what most police officers demanded in a raid, right?

Matthew's head was spinning as he watched the officers file in and occupy the dining space. He looked all around him at the faces staring back. A familiar voice coming into the room made him look back.

"Mathieu!" Francis rushed over to his son and embraced him tightly. Matthew continued to keep his hands in the air, not hugging back. He was dumbfounded, "Papa?"

The Frenchman let go and walked over to his mother, resting a gentle hand on her arm. He asked her in their native tongue if she was okay. He shocked Matthew a second time by thanking her for informing them of Matthew's whereabouts.

"What?" Matthew asked, barely noticing the officer taking his arm to lead him out, "Mémè? You told him? Why? Why would you do that?" Matthew wasn't able to get an answer as he was dragged out of the dining room and towards the front door.

"No!" Alfred tried to go after him but was held back by police officers muttering to him with words he didn't understand, "Matthew!"

"Alfred!" He could hear the Canadian's voice disappearing down the hall.

"Don't worry Matthew," Alfred called to him, hoping he was loud enough for Matthew to hear, "I'll find you! Do you hear me, Matthew? I'll find you!" He could barely make out Matthew calling for him again. Emotionally drained, Alfred felt physically weak as he tried to comprehend it all. Coming to Matthew's grandmother had been a mistake. A very costly mistake. He meant what he said though. He would find Matthew, no matter what it took.

As Francis left the dining room, to be with his runaway son, he looked back and gave Alfred a glaring snarl but said nothing. He turned on his heel and walked away. He didn't care who Alfred was. Rich or not, that young American was not going to take his son away. Period.

* * *

END NOTES:

~The "Pitou, Pitou, ou est Pitou?" thing is an inside joke with my family. My dad isn't very good with French so my sister and I (while we were in school learning it) used to make fun of him for only knowing that and "Bonjour". XD

Translations  
Je m'excuse – I'm sorry/I apologize (usually meant to excuse oneself)  
Pitou, Pitou, ou est Pitou – Pitou, Pitou, where is Pitou? (It's an old book about a dog…if what my dad says is correct).  
Beinvenue – Welcome  
Vas-y – Go ahead! (More on the lines of encouragement)


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

A/N: Okay guys...after this chapter there's only one left in this arc. There will be an announcement made next week regarding the second arc.

* * *

Matthew stared hypnotically at the ceiling above him in his father's hotel suite. His eyes traced the little half circle grooves that created a type of wave pattern above him. Normally staring straight into the light of the light bulb would hurt his eyes, but they were too dead to care. Without Alfred he found himself feeling lonely inside.

Taking a deep breath, he tilted his head to the side and looked at the digital clock on the bed side table. It had only been a few hours since he'd be forcefully parted from his travelling mate. And yet, it felt like an eternity. Why was he so addicted to the memory of Alfred? Why did his heart break to be apart from him? What he wouldn't give at this moment to hear that stupid American's laugh…

The red light of the clock was reflecting off a flat, solid object resting on the table. It was a hard cover book. Matthew sat up and grabbed it, carrying his eyes over the title. _Le Petit Prince_. Arthur had kindly left it on the table when he unpacked Matthew's things after the young Canadian had refused. Matthew flipped the book open, reading the first sentence of the page he landed on.

_On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux._ _One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye._

That line had always spoken to him in some mystical way. He never fully understood it but now he did. The passage continues with the fox sharing his secret of cultivating and taming the things one finds important to them. Matthew remembered the overall objective of the book. Don't be narrow-minded, create new bonds and don't be afraid to explore the unknown.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, listening to the beating of his own heart. The Little Prince, thought Matthew, was so concerned about making sure the sheep wouldn't eat his rose. He worked hard to grow that rose…if it disappeared it would be like the stars falling out of the sky. The message was clear.

Despite his prejudice, Matthew had given Alfred a chance, and Matthew created a bond with him. Alfred had become his rose. Now, like The Little Prince, he was worried about what would happen to his rose. Everything else was unimportant. He loved Alfred. He had to look into his heart because his eyes couldn't see it in front of him.

A knock on the door made him close the book and put it on the table. He rolled on his side and curled up on the bed, trying to ignore whoever was entering the room.

"Matthew?" Arthur's voice was quiet and soft. He walked carefully to the bed and placed something on the table. Matthew was turned away and couldn't see what it was. Arthur told him, "I brought you something to drink. Some orange juice. I hope you're alright with that."

Matthew was too angry to respond. He wasn't mad at Arthur specifically, but just in general over everything that was happening. He didn't feel like talking to anyone.

"Are you alright?" Arthur tried to make conversation with him. Matthew ignored him. The Brit reached over and patted him on the shoulder, "Alright then." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Well?" Francis was sitting on the sofa of the hotel suite living room. He might not be the richest man in the world but when Francis travelled abroad (for any reason) he had to have luxury accommodations. The golden trimmed room, with fancy white couches, additional mini-kitchen and a mirror that converted into a television was proof of that.

Across from Francis was a police officer who was asked to stay. The Frenchman was concerned that Matthew would try to sneak out so he employed an extra pair of eyes to watch his son.

"Well," Arthur sat down beside his husband with a sigh, "He's certainly not in the best of spirit."

Francis mimicked the sigh, "Yes well, I expected he would be a bit sour."

Arthur stared at his shoes as they shuffled underneath him. He had mixed feelings about the situation. He believed in order and following instructions (especially when he was the authoritative figure) but he also carried some sympathy for Matthew. Once upon a time he too had been an aggressively disobedient rascal. He'd once got caught stealing candy from a store because he wanted it, but had no money to buy it. In the end his older brother, Bruce, had to pay off the tab. Ah Bruce, Arthur thought, what would he do in this situation? Arthur hated to admit it but he did often look to his older brother as a role model. The Scotsman would probably let Matthew go.

The Englishman lifted his head and glanced at Francis. The Frenchman looked proud; like he'd recaptured stolen territory from an enemy. Alone he could discuss the matter with Francis using his true feelings, but when it came to Matthew he realized the two had to stand their ground together. That was part of being a good parent, right? He didn't know. He wasn't a parent. Not a _real_ one anyway.

Francis noticed the saddened confusion in Arthur's eyes and frowned, "Are you alright, cheri?" Surely he wasn't having regrets, was he? Well, Francis looked over to the police officer, it's not like it's Arthur's choice anyway. Francis looked at the closed door his son was hiding behind as he sulked in bed. He frowned again. For the last few hours his son had refused to look at him, much less talk to him. Francis was disappointed. He didn't like his son being miserable, but surely Matthew would one day understand why his father did what he did.

)()()()()(

Alfred shuffled uncomfortably as his black beetle taxi zoomed down the smoothly paved street. They had taken a detour through Dartford and across the Thames on their way to London, England. The only sight to bemuse Alfred was a split second of a street called "Alfred's Way". He laughed to himself, "Yeah right." Things were definitely _not_ going his way. Hitting Aspen Way, Alfred noticed a tall glass building shaped like a bulky version of the Washington Monument looming towards the sky. He figured it was a hotel.

"That's Canada Tower," The private detective pointed out to him, "It's part of Canary Wharf."

Matthew had been right. Alfred's father was also in on the hunt, only he was working alone. The private detective that had been hired had been following them the whole time, spying on them, watching their every move. He reported all the details to Alfred's father. As long as Alfred wasn't causing trouble no harm would come to the family business. But Alfred had stepped out of line with his kissing scheme. After Matthew was seized the private detective immediately took Alfred off the police to whisk him back to his father who was waiting in London.

"Hmmm," Alfred hummed, "Canada Tower." It was just what he needed; a reminder of Matthew. He meant that sarcastically, of course. His stomach turned at the thought of his loss. His idiot father clearly didn't understand. He resolved that as soon as he got home he'd appeal to his mom. She'd understand.

Amelia Jones had once been a pilot instructor who was hired to teach Alfred's father how to fly. She was tough and fun and named after her heroine, Amelia Earhart. Alfred loved the groundbreaking aviator too. His mom and the legend of Earhart had been the cornerstone of his own decision to take flying classes. If only he could have shown Matthew how cool he was in the sky. If only they could both soar and be free.

Taking one last glance at the tower in the driver's rearview mirror, Alfred concluded that he had to get away from the detective and from his father. He had to find Matthew. _I'm a hero, dammit,_ he told himself, _heroes don't quit_! For the remainder of the way he'd sit quietly, plotting his escape.

Less than an hour later they were parked in front of the Trafalgar Hilton Hotel in the centre of London. The classy building looked like an old department store with a clock facing the corner of the street. Alfred was slightly surprised as his dad would normally go for something more like the Ritz, but he figured his pops wanted to be discreet. Not that the Trafalgar was necessarily discreet. He looked across the street. Another slap in the face. There, large and proud with its four giant pillars, stood Canada House. It was the home to Canada's High Commissioner in London. Was God trying to punish him or was his dad doing this on purpose?

Staring at the large building he chanted to himself in his head; _I'm not going in, I'm not going in, I'm not going in… _As the private detective approached the stairs with Alfred close in his watch, the American took his chances. He looked out to the busy street, appearing to be scoping it out when he pointed and shouted, "Crap, there's my dad!"

The split second when the private detective swerved to look for his employer, Alfred bolted. If he could just make it to the underground subway. The closest one was Charing Cross, just across the traffic circle. Running down the stairs he took a quick glance at the lines: Bakerloo and Northern. _Shit, which one will go the farthest? _Never mind that, he thought pushing past the entrance bar, he had to get on whichever one was leaving now. Northern Line to Kennington it was. He just managed to jump aboard before the detective caught sight of him. Sighing he was relieved to leave the serious looking man in a brown, stiff hat behind as he raced away towards freedom.

When he got off and walked up to street level he found himself in a quiet suburban looking neighbourhood. With his stomach grumbling he walked down the street, past St. Mary's – which looked more like a gothic tower than a church, and down towards the smell of pizza. Reaching the Domino's Pizza at the end of the street he asked a fellow where he was. It looked like an apartment complex of sorts. This wasn't the image he normally thought of when someone said "London".

"Most people around here are students," One girl told him, pointing down the road to the college.

"It's mostly a living area," Another told him.

Alfred was disappointed. There'd be nowhere to hide around here. He wouldn't be able to dodge in and out of building if that detective came looking for him. The only interesting building was a tall glass one with what appeared to be three, white clock holes at the top.

He stopped to have a good laugh at Newingtons Butts. How the English could keep a straight face when naming these places he couldn't understand. A half circle far in the distance beckoned him to look. It was the top half of the London Eye. It gave him a good idea of how far away he was to the centre of the city. He was glad it was lit up, as darkness quickly swept over the city. Peering at his watch it was just a little past nine in the evening.

Continuing up the street he finally found a sign he could understand, "The City of Westminster". Ah, he thought, so that's where I am. A giant pink neon sign declared loudly that he was at the traffic circle at Elephant and Castle. _Geez_, Alfred thought, _I should've gotten off here_. Alfred decided he'd take the bus with the last bit of change he had instead of risking the subway back to Trafalgar. Besides, he'd be dying to try one of those awesome looking double decker busses since he'd gotten here. He caught one in front of the Metropolitan Tabernacle and rode towards Westminster Bridge.

Coming out from under the bridge, London began to look like London again, with its rising New York-esque buildings. He got off at Lambeth Palace Road across from the St. Thomas Hospital. Surely no one would think to find him there. After the traffic eased up he cross the street and made his way into the hospital. Once there he sat down and took a deep breath. It was time for rest.

Alfred wasn't sure how long he'd been sleeping when he awoke to find three young nurses staring over him. They looked more curious than angry. He smiled at them, "Morning ladies."

"Are you alright, sir?" One with short hair dyed a deep red asked.

"Fine and able," he joked lightly, sitting up straight. His back was slightly sore from the slouched sitting position he'd been sleeping in. He checked his watch. It was just past a quarter after eight in the morning. He'd slept a good while. His mind was blank for a moment, enjoying the peace, when he remembered his mission. Find Matthew.

"Um excuse me," He called to the nurses as they walked away. They all turned around to attend to him, "Do you happen to have a phone I can use?"

)()()()(

Alfred stared at the phone, wanting to pick up the lever. His iPhone was still in his pocket but he didn't want to turn it on incase the detective started tracking him. Unfortunately, he also couldn't remember Matthew's cellphone number by heart. Drat! He cursed himself.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing someone standing behind him. The man didn't look impatient and smiled at him. Alfred felt bad and stepped aside. "It's okay," He told the guy, "I just can't remember the number. You'd better go first."

"Oh, thank you," The man accepted the invitation.

Alfred laughed to himself, "Still can't get over that English accent…"

The man blinked and frowned, "I'm not English, I'm Welsh."

It was Alfred's turn to blink, "Oh really? Sorry dude. You guys all sound the same."

The Brit narrowed his eyes, making Alfred nervous, "Well, to me…you know…an American."

Alfred stood around staring at his feet, feeling embarrassed as the man on the phone chatted away, "Ah yes, Bruce. Good to hear from you again. How is Nova Scotia? No, no, Uncle Andrew is fine. Yes. I don't know, I haven't spoken to Arthur, I didn't even know he was here. Oh is that so? Well I'll have to give him a call. Yes, I'll keep in touch. Yes, yes, you too. Goodbye now."

Arthur? _Pfffffft_, Alfred couldn't help himself, "I know an Arthur. He's a Brit too, I think. Sounds like one. He's married to some French guy in Canada."

The Welshman's interest suddenly peaked, "You don't say."

"Yeah," Alfred continued to pick his brain, "Kirk…something…I dunno, Matthew didn't talk much about him."

"Kirkland?" The sandy blonde's eyes went wide, "Arthur Kirkland? Married to Francis Bonnefoy? Francis has a son, Matthew Bonnefoy…"

"It's Bonnefoy-Cartier." Alfred corrected him. He suddenly grinned with enthusiasm, "Dude, I can't believe you know them!"

"Of course I do," He laughed, "Arthur's my younger brother. I'm Owen."

Alfred hesitated to take the outstretched hand. Arthur's brother? Would he be in on this too? He looked up into the Brit's eyes. Owen could read the mistrust and frowned, "Is something wrong?"

"N-no," Alfred looked away. He shuffled his feet under him pretending to act innocent.

"Hardly," Was Owen's response. "Sounds like there's been trouble. What has my brother done this time?"

Alfred was surprised by the tone. Owen made it sound like Arthur and Francis's mischief was nothing new. Taking a chance he explained his story. Owen was surprised, "Matthew is an adult and is fully capable of making his own decisions. At least that's what I'd think. He's never appeared to be the reckless type."

"I know!" Alfred shouted with enthusiasm, "They're like…helicopter parents. Worse than my dad…"

Owen crossed his arms and nodded, "They definitely seem to have crossed a line." He looked around him and lowered his voice, leaning close to the American, "So what do you plan to do about it?"

Alfred got close too, "Find Matthew, of course."

"They'll try to stop you."

"Let them try," He narrowed his eyes, "I love Matthew and I won't let anyone or anything stand in our way."

Owen smiled, feeling a peck of pride in Alfred's straightforwardness. He had always been fond of cute, little Matthew and was glad to see someone loved him enough to fight for him. But he had to ask, "How long have you and Matthew known each other? Do you go to school together? Is it sports maybe?"

"Uh," Alfred shuffled his eyes away, "Yeah…sports…I guess you could say sports brought us together."

Owen frowned, "I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth."

"Help me?" Alfred looked up and blinked in disbelief, "Dude, are you serious? You're going to help us reunite!?"

"If you answer my question I'll think about it." The Welshman was friendly and accommodating, but he was also careful and sometimes pessimistic.

"Well, the truth is," Alfred paused momentarily, giving Owen time to brace himself, "we've only known each other for about a month."

"And you already think you love him!?" Arthur's brother was definitely shocked now. He was thinking a couple of months…not one.

"Yes! Absolutely! Without a doubt!" Alfred made clear, "And he cares about me too, I know he does."

"He cares," Owen repeated, noticing the reserve in Alfred's words. His choice of diction said to Owen that the American wasn't fully convinced of this. He sighed. There was only one way to find out. He'd have to ask Matthew. Since he'd already planned on calling Arthur anyway he figured he could easily do this. Looking at Alfred he told him, "I'm going to call Arthur. I won't tell him about you but I'm going to send a message to Matthew. If his feelings coincide with yours then…I'll help you get to him."

"And if not?" Alfred was afraid to ask.

"Then I'm sorry but," The Welshman sternly looked into Alfred's eyes, "You'll have to leave my nephew alone."

Alfred took a deep breath and nodded. This was his only chance. He had to take it. Even if Matthew didn't love him, surely he did care about him and wanted the two to be together, right? He did, after all, call to Alfred as he was being dragged away from his grandmother's apartment.

Owen picked up the receiver and dialed the number of his youngest brother. The phone was immediately picked up after the first ring. It was Arthur and he sounded distressed.

)()()()()(

THE NIGHT BEFORE

Arthur turned the corner to the square hall where the hotel elevators sat. He grumbled to himself, cursing his husband for sending him out to fetch some dinner for the small family. "Dammit Francis", he mumbled under his breath, stepping into the electric box, "why in God's name would you send me, _an Englishman_, out to get supper in Paris? If I hear one more jibe about roast beef, I swear…" As the doors closed he caught a familiar sight barging into the hotel lobby. His eyes widened. Oh. My. God. He thought to himself, _she's here_.

When he reached the forty-eighth floor of their fancy French hotel, Arthur bolted down the fuzzy red carpet of the pearl white hallway towards his suite. He had to warn Francis as soon as possible. When he reached the door near the end of the hall he fumbled to collect the card key in his pocket and jam it into the censor box. As soon as the green light flashed, indicating the door was now unlocked, he threw it open.

Francis blinked, completely taken by the look of panic written across the face of his significant other. Concerned, he asked, "Arthur? Is everything alright?" The policeman in the room was equally concerned and stood at attention.

"Francis," Arthur was panting, his face slightly red from running the corridor, "She's coming. It's her!"

"Who?" The Frenchman was keeping a calm and composed figure. His position soon changed when he saw the shadow looming behind his husband. Nervously he smiled as Arthur noticed her and stepped aside, shriveling away. "Ah," He greeted the old woman he used to call Mother-In-Law, "_Ma cherie_. What brings you to Paris?"

Charlotte Cartier, the mother of his late wife, stood in the door way looking mad as hell. "You know damn bloody well what I'm doing here." He spit at him. Her words were always venomous towards him. Francis wasn't surprised though. She was one of a rare group of Quebec Anglophones, born into the well-known Williams family. Charlotte Williams, that had been her maiden name before she married into the equally famous Cartier family. Francis had met her father once who warned him that his gene pool was infamous for longevity. The World War Two veteran assured him his daughter would be around for a long time. The old man had finally died himself three years ago at the ripe old age of eight-nine. His daughter, Matthew's grandmother, was into her seventies now, though based on looks and physical ability one would easily assume she was in her fifties.

"Don't cherie, me, Francis." She hissed at him, brushing past him, "I came to see my grandson and take him home."

Francis was instantly offended, "He's not going home with you, Charlotte. He is my son and will go home with me. Like it or not, I have the court papers proving my guardianship over Mathieu."

"Ha," She laughed at his absent papers, "He can go where he pleases. He's an adult now, Francis, not a little boy. Or are you still living in the past?"

The Frenchman bit his tongue. He was certain, however, that there was no way he was going to allow his former mother-in-law to spirit away his son and tell him poisonous lies about his family.

Charlotte didn't bother to enjoy the victory of Francis's silence. She was on a mission to find her grandson and take him away. With great instinct she pushed open the double doors to the master bedroom and found her daughter's son laying on the bed with his back to the door.

"Mathieu," She whisked herself across the floor to him. Matthew was startled when he saw her and had little time to react as she drew him into a hug. He blinked, trying to gather his senses, "_Mémé?_"

"Yes, Mathieu," She answered his question, running her fingers through his hair as she held him close, "Your Mémé has come to take you home." When Matthew pushed back and frowned at her, looking hurt she frowned, "What's the matter? Is this something your father has done?"

"No, Mémé, but," Matthew looked at the floor, still looking gloomy, "I'm not ready to go home yet." He looked at her, looking unwavering, "there's something I have to do first."

"What's that?" She was suspicious.

"I have to find Alfred," He said, staring her down, "I have to tell him something."

Seeing the determination in his eyes she sighed. She didn't know much about Alfred other than that he was the one Matthew had been travelling with. She didn't understand his importance or why Matthew was desperate to see him but she _could_ see how important it was to Matthew to reach out to him. If she knew her Mattie as well as she claimed she did she knew he was going to find this Alfred boy no matter what and tell him whatever had to be said.

"And what exactly do you have to say to him? Can't you call him?"

"No!" Matthew raised his voice in frustration, "I have to tell him in person! Please Mémé!"

She frowned again, the wrinkles on her face deepening, "Tell him what?"

"That..." He paused and blushed, looking at the ground. He was terrified of telling his grandmother his emotional revelation. The love between two men had destroyed her daughter's marriage and now was seeping into her grandson's life. How would she take it? But he had to try. For Alfred, he had to try. Sighing, he looked up at her masking his insecurities with a strong face, "I love him, too."

Charlotte blinked in astonishment. Had she really just heard that? Did she imagine it? She hoped so. A second glance at Matthew told her she was wrong. His expression hadn't changed. It frightened her. However, she found herself resigning. Matthew wasn't like Francis, he was sincere and loving. She actually pitied him, worried the other boy was just dragging him in the mud. There was only one way to be sure if this would work, if she could accept it. She had to meet Alfred in person. Meeting Alfred meant freeing Matthew. Francis wouldn't like this…the thought gave her some pleasure.

"Alright Mattie," She resigned, "I'll take you to see him, but we'll have to wait until your father leaves. There's no other way to get past."

They waited in the room for several hours, acting as if a plan had never been made. Matthew continued to ignore Arthur's 'check-ins' and Charlotte fought bitterly with Francis. The Frenchman finally got fed up with his mother-in-law and her chiding words that he dragged Arthur away for a drink at the lounge on the top floor of the hotel. The policeman stayed behind as instructed.

Charlotte made a lame-duck excuse to take Matthew out of the room. "The boy needs fresh air," She told him and assured him she was equally concerned about his wellbeing and would guard him carefully. She wasn't lying, she mentally told herself. She would be guarding him carefully as she accompanied him to the rendezvous point.

"We have to get far away from here," Matthew said walking quickly down the street of Paris. He looked around to discover his grandmother a few paces behind him. He frowned, reminding himself that the lady, as youthful looking as she was, was still old and not as fast as him. He waited for her to catch up. "We should go somewhere that's known for civility. A place that's accepting of people...like me."

His grandmother frowned, "Don't cast yourself out, Matthew." She walked past him. Even if he is gay, she told herself, he is still a human being and no person was going to treat him differently. She'd see to that. More importantly, of course, was that he was _her_ grandson. That alone, in her opinion, demanded respect.

)()()()()(

Arthur and Francis had returned early that morning after a night of drinking away, both in celebration and to forget their recent trouble. They both had had too much and fell asleep at the bar. Luckily, as V.I.P patrons they were spared the humiliation of being kicked out and where instead left to sleep. When they woke up they stumbled out and down the elevator to their floor.

Francis opened the door with his key, successfully unlocking it on his third try and fell into the room. He was met with a frantic police officer on his phone. The panic on the officer's face instantly woke the two visitors. With wide eyes, already reading into the situation, Francis blurted out, "What's going on? Where's Mathieu?"

"Je suis desolé" The officer said to him, still on the phone, "he has escaped! The old lady took him."

"That bitch!" Francis slammed his fist into a wall before turning on the officer, "Why would you let them leave!? Your job was to monitor them!" The officer bumbled out excuses and explanations.

Arthur's eyes traced the room, looking for any piece of evidence that might help decipher where the two were going. He wondered why Matthew would comply with his grandmother's wishes. If he wanted to live with her he would've done so a year ago. Something wasn't quite right. The ringing of his cellphone snapped him out of his thoughts. Picking it up he answered.

"Hello?"

He recognized the voice on the other end. It was his brother, Owen, "Oh Owen, it's really not a good time to be calling, we're quite busy."

When his brother probed into why he grunted, "It's private."

Again, his brother poked to find more information, "It's Matthew dammit! He's missing so we're very busy!"

Arthur wasn't sure what to make over the silence on the other end. Listening carefully it sounded as if Owen was speaking with someone else in the background. He couldn't quite make out what was being said or who he was talking to.

"So you found Matthew," Owen finally said on the other end, "Well…_did_, anyhow."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Oh spare me." He continued through the receiver when no immediate response was given, "Well is that all?"

"I suppose, but I do have some good news for you. I came to visit Uncle Andrew because he's sick in the hospital. He's doing well."

Arthur sighed exhaustively, "Well goodie. If that's all then I'll have to be going. This is serious." He hung up without a goodbye.

)()()()()(

Owen hung up the phone on the phone booth box and turned to Alfred. Sternly he said, "Do you have any way of contacting Matthew?"

"Just my cell but," Alfred started but the Welshman cut him off, "You need to use it. It's only a matter of time before Arthur and Francis track him down again."

Alfred's mind was rampaging with thoughts. If he turned his iPhone on he risked his dad catching him. And what if Matthew's blackberry was turned off? What if he didn't even have it? Against his better judgment he pressed the on button, lighting the screen up. Looking up at Owen he said, "Why did you suddenly decide to help?"

"Because," Owen smiled, "I'm finding it difficult to come up with more than one possibility for Matthew's disappearance. He escaped for a reason…and I don't think it was to catch a breath away from Francis and my brother."

Alfred's face lit up, "Really?" Owen smiled kindly in response. Alfred dialed Matthew's number as quickly as he could and felt relief as it rang. Matthew picked up on the second ring.

"Alfred!?" He sounded nervous and excited in the same breath, "Is that you?"

"Yeah!" Alfred was equally animated, "It's me, dude! Where are you? Where are you going? I heard you ran away from your dad."

"Yeah," Matthew's voice was drowning in the moving of heavy machinery, "I'm at the airport. Where are you?"

"I'm at a hospital," Alfred told him, "In London."

"You're in England?"

"Yeah! Are you still in Paris?"

"Of course!" Matthew told him, "But I'm going to the Netherlands."

"Amsterdam?"

"Yeah! Come see me there. I'll wait for you." At the begrudging of someone with him Matthew had to end the conversation and hang up. Clicking the end button on his phone and turning it off, Alfred concluded that he _must_ go to Amsterdam. No matter what the cost. Matthew was waiting for him.

* * *

So there you have it. Chapter 18. Next week is the last chapter in the first arc. Please read and review!


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

A/N: Well you guys…this is it. This is the last chapter in the first arc. After this I'll be taking a month break from posting before going into the second arc. There's a lot of er… "fun" drama in the second arc. The first one was rather casual…an introduction/background to Matthew's life and the development of his relationship with Alfred. In the next arc we'll learn more about Alfred's family and background as well as finishing up Matthew's story (with his mother's suicide). We'll also add in some…conflict. 8 D So be sure to check on January 3rd, 2013 for chapter twenty.

Also…there will be a lot more sexiness in the next arc. My apologies to those who came on (in the first arc) hoping for smut and were disappointed.

See you all in the new year!

* * *

Alfred heart was pounding with adrenaline as he smiled enthusiastically at the metal beast before him. It had been a long time since he'd flown a plane. He was fortunate that he always had his license tucked in his wallet; next to Debbie, of course. He had trained on a Cessna 152, but the Piper Super Cub wasn't all that different. Like that 152 it was a two-seater. The model itself pre-dated the Second World War.

Alfred ran his fingertips across the smooth, white exterior. There was a curved blue stripe like a like stretched out C spanning most of the plane, with its number Z2010 on top. She was a little rusty, but to Alfred she was beautiful.

He turned around, a serene and thanksgiving smile on his face. He appreciated Owen's effort to get him a plane and a runway to take off. London International was a busy airport and rarely were private planes able to take off. They had had to blow Alfred's cover though. The airport wasn't just going to allow any old nineteen year old to take off in a plane on their runway. But Alfred F. Jones? The son of the fourth richest man in America? Oh yes, they'd make an exception for him.

Owen nodded to the American as he put on his helmet and flying goggles, "Take care, kid."

Alfred gave him a thumb up, "No worries, dude. I've flown many times, I'll be fine."

The Welshman laughed, "That's not what I meant."

Al blinked momentarily before clueing in, "Oh, that. Don't worry about that either. I'll find Matthew."

Owen stepped back as Alfred climbed into the cockpit and flicked the necessarily switches to turn on the engine. He gave a quick wave goodbye before turning the planes to the runway and preparing to take off.

Hearing the humming and puttering of the engine felt like rediscovering an old favourite song. He felt snug and comfortable in the pilot's seat as he gripped the joystick in front of him. The plane was picking up speed as it tore down the runway. It was a bit of a shaky start as the plane tottered to one side as it leapt into the air, but overall it was a good take off.

Climbing higher and higher, Alfred could only think of one thing as the clouds parted for his little vehicle. Matthew. Would he be able to reach Matthew in time? Who was Matthew with? The fight would just under an hour. He elected to use the time to think of a game plan.

)()()()()(

The houses along the canal looked as though they stretched deep into the waters they sat on. They were all different colours: blue, pink, white, yellow, firebrick... Most had pointed tops and rows of windows. Behind Matthew, across the canal bridge, was solid ground and another row of tall, pointy houses on a long street. His grandmother was on the other side, looking both ways so she could cross over to give her grandson the coffee she'd bought for him.

It didn't take long for her to cross. There weren't many cars on the street. Most people opted to bike in the summer. She handed him the paper cup with a white dome lid and joined him in his stare across the canal. They were silent for a moment until she spoke.

"Mathieu," She looked at him, still holding her own cup. He acknowledged her. She smiled sweetly at him, "You know you can talk to me. I am your mémé."

"I know," He smiled back. He returned his longing gaze to the water, "It's just that. I don't know if you'd understand."

"What do you mean?" She raised a brow.

"I'm mean…" he couldn't face her, "It's Alfred."

"And…"

Matthew looked at her and frowned. How could he explain this without insulting her and the memory of his mother? Swallowing his fear he started, "I-"

She stopped him, "Mathieu, you already told me how you feel about him." She narrowed her eyes, "But are you sure? You are still young. Perhaps you are mistaken. Perhaps he made you feel things that were not there."

Matthew flashed her an annoyed glare. Alfred did nothing of the sort to him. "No mémé, I know what I'm feeling. I know Alfred didn't put these thoughts into my head." He had to rethink that, "Okay, he kind of did, but it wasn't a bad thing. It was an awakening of sorts."

"Did you like boys before?" She was curious.

"No," He answered sincerely, "But I never really looked at girls either. I just didn't bother with that kind of stuff."

"I see," She was thinking hard now. She silently cursed Francis, wondering if it was him who had planted the seed of gayness into her grandson. The old woman shuddered to think of what he and Arthur did in the dark while Matthew slept down the hall. But she knew she couldn't interfere too much. If she did she risked losing the lasting legacy of her daughter. She could berate and slander Francis but not Matthew. She had to accept him, no matter what he did.

The two were about to step away from the canal when they witnessed a young woman who was leaning too far over the rope railing fall into the canal. They were both startled.

"Oh my God!" Matthew watched her surface and flail her arms around trying to grab the surface, "She'll drown!" Back in Montreal he and his friends enjoyed swimming in the summer months. He'd gotten good at it. The swimming lessons his mom made him take as a child certainly helped. He heaved himself over the railing and dropped into the mild-temperature water below.

She was on the other side of the canal trying desperately to grab at the wall of the bridge. It was made up of solid gray bricks with few cracks to dig her nails into. Matthew used her bobbing, short brown hair and green bow to identify her as she swam for her.

He called out, "Hang on, I'm coming!" Had he bothered to consider language differences he'd realize she may not understand English. When he reached her he called out to her again, "I'm almost there Miss!"

She heard him this time and answered him, "Vite! Vite!" Matthew was stunned. Did she just say "vite"? She's French!

"Je suis ici! Je suis ici!" Matthew reached her and snaked his arms under hers, pulling her onto her back. Using his legs he whip kicked his way to a nearby dock where he dragged her out. He patted her back as she coughed up the water she had swallowed. His grandmother raced down the stairs as he placed his jacket over the soaking wet girl.

His grandmother frowned sympathetically at her, "The poor thing."

"Mémé," Matthew looked at her, his eyes sparkling with brilliant surprise, "She's French!"

He was shocked when she spun around and glared at him, "Non! Je ne suis pas Francais! J'habite Belguim!"

Matthew blinked. He was a bit startled, "You're Belgian?"

"Yes, I am," She rung the water out of her hair.

"What on earth were you doing so close to the canal, dear?" Charlotte asked, her hair now a little whiter than usual from the trauma.

"My friend," She said, releasing a small bracelet she'd been holding in her hand, "gave me this bracelet. While I was looking in the canal it slipped off into the water. I wanted to see where it was and if I could fish it out." The bracelet was made up of light blue beads and silver ovals. It didn't look pricey; rather something you'd get from a craft store.

"He got it for me from the fair," She explained, her green eyes glittering.

Charlotte smiled and winked, "It seems this friend is special then."

"Yes," she smiled. "We've been friends for a long time. He's like a brother to me."

"Just a brother?" The elder frowned. She hoped her suspicion wasn't true. How many gays were there in the world, anyway?

"I don't," She looked to her seaweed green slippers, "fit his _lifestyle_."

Matthew stood up, reaching a hand to her to help her stand. He couldn't have cared less about all that. He was just glad she was safe. "Would you like for us to walk you home?" He was supposed to be heading towards Amsterdam's international airport to meet Alfred, but surely the American would understand if he was a little bit late.

"I don't know," She said, not liking to look like a damsel in distress. She was too strong-willed for that, "Maybe you could walk me to the street." It would look rather awkward for her to walk home alone all wet.

"I'm Matthew," The Canadian smiled at her. He looked back to his grandmother, "And this is my grandmère."

The Belgium nodded gracefully to both of them and added, "My name is Edda. Edda Poirot."

They walked for ten minutes but it felt like less as the three were happily conversing with each other. When they came to the big red door at the light yellow house in Amsterdam, Edda opened it and walked inside. Matthew and his grandmother blinked outside until she invited them in.

"Relax," She told them, "it's a hallway for the complex my friend lives in. I'm staying with him for a few days. Come on in."

"Why thank you," Charlotte led the way. She followed behind Edda to another door, brown this time, and waited while the Belgian knocked at the door. A tall man with a buff build answered. He had blonde hair with a sharp point and was wearing an orange jersey shirt with a white 8 stitched over the breast.

"Edda," He shifted his glance from her to her two guests. "Who are these people…and why are you wet?"

"Sorry!" She brushed past him, "The bracelet you gave me fell in the canal so I tried to get it back and fell in." He was startled by this information, "But that guy there pulled me out. Oh, and that's his grandma."

The intimidating looking man looked at Matthew, "Thanks. My friend can be troublesome sometimes."

Matthew smiled, "It's alright. I'm just glad she's safe."

The young man looked back at her, "I'm assuming that's your jacket."

"Yes, it is."

"Again, I appreciate it," Matthew was told, "I'm William."

"Matthew." The Canadian responded casually.

"I'm Charlotte," Matthew's grandmother interrupted, forcing her hand towards William. He took it and shook it, looking confused by her directness. He looked back to Matthew as if he wanted some answers but Matthew just shrugged politely with a nervous smile.

William flickered his eyes and examined the French Canadien in front of him. He nearly failed to notice his friend opening his fridge asking where the orange juice she bought had been placed. Keeping eye contact with Matthew he answered her, "I don't know. I didn't drink it."

"Like he-" She quickly remembered the old woman was present, "-ck you didn't."

He turned around groaned, "What are you? My keeper?"

"No," She tilted forward, placing her hands on her hips with an angry pout, "but when I buy things for myself I expect to find them where I left them."

"Whatever," He waved her off, "I have to finish my garden. You're lucky you got here before I left. I need to pick up more tulip bulbs." Looking at Matthew he added, "You. Come with me. The girls can stay here."

Matthew wasn't sure, but could only stutter, "Oh…I'm…not sure I…uh…" He couldn't finish as William rushed past him, dragging him along. Matthew looked to his grandmother who frowned but refrained from acting.

)()()()()(

The store was small and crowded with flowers but it smelt wonderful and fresh. Each flower had its own aroma and the blend reminded Matthew of one of his deceased mother's perfumes. Leafy green streams tumbled out of ceiling plants falling to the floor and little flowers of all different colours sat in little wooden boxes, their roots covered in thick dark soil.

"Are you looking for something in particular?" Matthew asked with a smile, watching William scan the many clay pots.

"Tulips." William answered without looking up, "I told you that."

"I know," Matthew glanced away nervously, "I meant was there something particular in the tulips you're looking for." William had been standing for several minutes examining a pile of tulips making Matthew wonder if he was looking for a specific one.

"I was thinking," William started.

"Yes?"

"About you."

Matthew blushed. Why would this young man be thinking about him? What did Matthew do to draw his attention?

"Why did you jump into the canal to save Edda?" He looked the Canadian in the eye.

"Um," Matthew blinked. Was this guy going to interrogate him? What was the big deal? He was just wanted to help her. "I saw her drowning so…I don't know. Instincts, I guess. I was worried for her."

"Sorry," William went back to analyzing the flowers, "We're not used to…people going out of their way for us." He paused to take in the silence, "I've been on my own for the longest time. Edda, not so much, but she's a bit of a troublemaker anyway."

Matthew wasn't bothered, "She seems nice enough." He also went quiet before asking, "What happened to your parents…if you don't mind me asking?"

William eyed Matthew suspiciously, wondering if there was a motive behind his question. Believing him to be sincere he answered, "Never really had any. Mom worked in…_De Wallen_ so…"

"De Wallen?" Matthew was curious.

"It's…" The Dutchman hesitated, "famous for its…illicit activity."

"Oh," the Canadian frowned, feeling sorry for William. Matthew had heard of the famous red light districts of the Netherlands with its prostitution and drug use. It was world renowned. He could only relate on a small level. His mother had fallen into drugs, albeit medical ones, which eventually killed her. Of course, she was a moral person in terms of sexuality, so that was as far as the comparison could go. "What about your father?"

"Never knew him."

Ah, Matthew sighed internally. He felt truly sorry for William. He couldn't imagine life without his parental figures. It was bad enough when he lost his mom, but being without his dad too? That would be hard. The thought forced him to reflect on his recent actions. Was he right to run away from his father? Was he really willing to risk losing contact with Francis to be with Alfred? Exchanging the known for the unknown?

"These ones." William gathered a small bunch of bright red tulips in a brown clay pot, "These ones will complement the yellow ones I have."

"They're nice." Matthew looked at the tulips and then to William, "You made a great choice."

"Thanks," Matthew could have sworn he saw William's cheeks turn rosy pink. Did he just blush? The Canadian had little time to wonder as the Dutchman continued, "You're very nice too."

Daring himself, William reached out to softly cup the Canadian's face. He stared deep into his blue, calming eyes. How beautiful they were. For a long time he'd searched for someone like Matthew. Someone gentle and sweet; someone caring and sensitive. His heart would have stopped had he not taken the extra effort to rub his thumb across Matthew's cheek. Funny, how the most perfect person could show up so randomly one day.

Matthew unknowingly found himself blushing. He barely knew this man and he was already caught in a romantic scene with him. Despite staring into the green eyes of the man holding him he found himself thinking of Alfred. Earning for the American to jump into the store and rescue him he unconsciously whispered his name, "Alfred."

William was taken by surprise. Alfred? What did it mean? It was obviously someone's name. In this situation he could only take it to be the name of someone Matthew treasured deeply. Someone who this scenario might have hurt to see. His quaking eyes were evidence of this. William pulled away.

The room felt a bit colder than it previously had. Had the phone not rang it would have been dead silent. William and Matthew stood quietly as the cashier returned from the back room to pick up the phone and take a delivery order. Finally, the Dutchman had to ask.

"Who's Alfred?"

"Alfred…he's…" Matthew thought about it. Suddenly he remembered what he was supposed to be doing this morning. He was supposed to be meeting the American at the airport. He blurted his revelation out, "supposed to be landing soon!" Without checking the time Matthew turned around and dashed out of the store, heading several blocks back to William's house. He felt bad about leaving the Dutchman there. He'd have to apologize later.

When he reached the chunky cement steps he bolted up them and pushed open the door. It only took two giant steps to reach the door of William's home and he pounded on it furiously. He was wasting time! He had to hurry! He didn't want to miss Alfred. With his heart racing he rambled quickly to his grandmother that they had to hurry to the airport to get Alfred.

"Oh that's right," His mémé nodded slowly. She had forgotten about Alfred too. Taking her sweet time she gathered her things as Matthew ushered her to hurry up. As they walked out the door they bumped into William who had made his way back with his tulips. Matthew quickly apologized to him and told him that they had to pick up a friend from the airport.

Without much emotion (mostly due to his mistaken assertiveness in the flower shop) he asked them to wait a moment so he could drop his flowers off in his home. He assured them he knew the best route to get there quickly. In truth he was eager to see the young man who'd attracted Matthew. Not wanting to admit it, he felt better knowing Edda wanted to accompany them as well. "If you're going, then I'm going too." She'd told him, throwing her tanned high-heel sandals on.

)()()()()(

The skies over the Netherlands were greyer than in England. The weather was overcast and expected to stay that way all day. But the shady clouds were no obstacle for Alfred. He'd landed planes in rainstorms before. He skidded and bumped a little on contact with the runway but it was an otherwise smooth landing.

Unbuckling himself, he took off his visor goggles and exited the plan, but not before turning the engine off and waiting for the propellers to stop spinning. He jumped out; it wasn't too high. Heroes didn't need ladders to climb out!

Alfred looked around hoping to see the bright, brilliant face of his beloved. His heart was racing with excitement. Instead he was greeted with a cold, isolated and empty runway. He frowned. Where was Matthew? He was sure the Canadian would be here waiting for him. He checked his watch. He'd hang around and wait a little. Maybe Mattie was just running a little bit late. He stood around, watching a plane take off from another runway. It pulled itself up towards the sky. Alfred observed it as it disappear into the ozone. He checked his watch again. It had barely been five minutes since he had landed yet it felt like much longer. Sighing in disappointment he resolved to go inside.

When he got inside he suddenly felt hungry. Swinging his head around he caught sight of a…McDonalds? Yes! He ran to it with fervour, determined to stuff his face with delicious hamburgers. Oh how he desperately wanted a double cheeseburger with extra everything. He bounced and fidgeted in line – there were seven people in front of him, some were fellow Americans, until he finally got to the register where he added on a large chocolate shake.

"Six dollars and twelve cents," The cashier told him after reading back his order.

Alfred pulled out his wallet to pay the woman when he realized he had no cash on him. _Damn_. He'd used the last little bit of money he had to pay for a bus ticket back into the centre of London. He'd have to use Debbie. The thought was disturbing, especially since he hadn't found Matthew yet. Taking a deep sigh he requested debit and plugged his card into the card slot. He punched in his pin number and waited for the approval sign so he could pull his card out. He wouldn't be able to stay long. The woman handed him his shake and hamburger bag and he thanked her – trying to hide his concern. From there he took off to a small corner to eat, hoping to stay hidden and out of sight.

Alfred ate quickly, practically inhaling the shake and burger. He waited anxiously for several more minutes, pushing it on ten. The sight of an intense looking security officer told him it was time to go. He'd have to take to the streets and look for Matthew there. He hoped he could find him in time.

)()()()()(

Matthew's feet were hurting from running. Even though his grandmother had yelled at him to slow down he kept moving. Her voice was now gone; he'd left her behind several blocks ago. Edda had chosen to stay with her, despite wanting to go ahead farther. Someone had to take care of the old lady. William kept up with Matthew.

They'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes now. All Matthew could hear in his head was the pounding of his heart and his subconscious chiding him for not being at the airport for Alfred. _You're late_, he told himself. _You're late! You're late! You're late!_ What if Alfred got the wrong idea? What if he thinks I don't care about him anymore? It was too stressful to think about.

Racing past a side street gap, Matthew swore he saw a flash of blonde run by on the other side. He back-peddled, wondering if that was what he thought it was.

The flash of blonde seemed to have the same idea as it entered the open gap, "Matthew?" Alfred looked tired from running.

"Alfred!" Matthew was overjoyed as he ran to his companion. Without thinking he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck and hugged him tightly. It made the American blush. It was the first time Matthew had ever expressed any loving emotion towards him.

Alfred's body temperature went up as his head swelled. Matthew? His beautiful, holy angel was hugging him? The feel, the smell, the look of Matthew was potent. He hankered to touch his love everywhere; from his forehead to his toes. He was too busy dreaming of pulling back and capturing Matthew's lips with his that he hardly noticed the tall Dutchman standing in the near distance.

Matthew was the one who pulled away to introduce the other man. The loss made Alfred pout. Matthew hardly seemed to notice when he gestured to his guest, "This is William. I met him and Edda this morning. Oh, but Edda is with my grandmother a few blocks away. They couldn't keep up." Alfred's raised brow prompted Matthew to explain further, "Edda, who's from Belgium by the way, fell into a canal so I rescued her. She ended up taking us to William's house…since they're friends and all."

William gazed up and down at Alfred and the American mimicked him. William wasn't sure if he was totally impressed. So this is young man that has stolen Matthew's affection? He created a list of words in his mind to summarize Alfred: robust, sharp looking, strong …kind of sexy…. But Alfred had yet to open his mouth. What kind of person was he?

William didn't have to wait long for Alfred to stir up conversation. The American jumped right on it, "So Matthew, how'd you get away from your folks?"

"My grandmother smuggled me out," The Canadian answered. He looked to the ground, "Though honestly, I don't think mémé is overly excited about us being together either."

Alfred blinked. Meh-meh? Whatever, he didn't care. He was just happy to be with Matthew again. But the news of yet another family member blocking the way was unsatisfying. Perhaps they'd have to run again. But still… "Why'd she help you escape then?"

Matthew smiled and blushed. It was embarrassing to say but, "because she loves me. …And my mom."

"Oh yeah," Alfred instantly remembered Matthew's mother. She'd committed suicide years ago due to depression. Matthew still hadn't given him the full story but he wondered if Francis choosing Arthur had something to do with it. Maybe that's why there was so much fear regarding Matthew having a male partner. It brought up old (and bad) memories. But this is different, Alfred told himself. _This is me and Matthew. _

Suddenly the voice of an old woman was heard down the street, "Mathieu! Mathieu!"

"Mémé?" Matthew looked towards the direction of the voice. Why did his grandmother sound so frantic? So urgent? Matthew, Alfred and William turned the corner back onto the main street where they saw Charlotte and Edda jogging towards them.

"Mathieu," His grandmother waved to him, "_Ton Papa! Il est ici_!"

Alfred looked to a horrified Matthew, "What did she say?"

"My dad is here." Matthew could barely whisper.

"Aw shit," Alfred frowned, looking back at Matthew's grandmother as she continued to bobble down the road.

"How did they find me?" Matthew was confused. Alfred had some suggestions, "I dunno, maybe it was when I called you? Or…when I used Debbie?"

William raised a brow, "Debbie?" He was ignored.

"When did you use your debit card? Did you fly here?"

"Yeah, dude, but it's not what you think," Alfred explained, "I flew myself here. You know, in a small aircraft."

Matthew was bewildered, "You can fly?"

The rush of the moment temporarily faded as Alfred smiled widely, "Yeah dude, I have a pilot's license. Didn't I tell you?"

"Uh…" Matthew's mind was too scattered to focus. Alfred was busy yammering away about McDonald's and purchasing a hamburger anyway.

Suddenly William commanded their attention, "If they're coming why are you two just standing around?"

"Oh, right!" Matthew picked up his feet to flee but he was caught in the act. "Mathieu!" The Canadian's heart skipped a beat when he heard his father's penetrating voice. It sliced right through him like a knife through hot butter. Slowly turning around he found his father panting on the corner. Arthur followed behind.

There was yet another surprise after Arthur. "Ah shit," Alfred groaned, "My dad."

David Jones was tall (taller than both Arthur and Francis), buff and looked like he was more successful at being a bodyguard than a wealthy corporate owner. His blonde hair was short and gelled back tightly, and his auburn eyes were hidden behind designer sunglasses.

"No way man," Alfred was shaking his head furiously, "No way am I going back."

Matthew was in awe of the bold man. He could barely speak, "So that's your father."

"Dude," Alfred grabbed Matthew's arm, "They like…teamed up. The whole world is against us! It's a conspiracy!"

The Canadian frowned. What was wrong with Alfred? He looked terribly freaked out. …Like he was seeing a ghost or something. Was he really that terrified of his dad?

Beyond Alfred, Matthew could see William standing there, as if he wasn't affected at all by the drama. Matthew instantly thought of William's predicaments. His mother was a drugged up whore and his father never bothered with him. Matthew felt the creases of his mouth drop into a frown. He sincerely felt awful for William.

Turning back to the three adults he examined his own father. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life running from his dad? Did he really no longer want Francis to be in his life? No, no he didn't. He would love again one day…but he'd never have another father. The thought of losing Francis was scary. It brought up feelings he felt when he'd lost his mom. Taking a deep breath he looked at Alfred.

"Al," Matthew brought his palm to Alfred's chin and lovingly cupped his face. He smiled sweetly, but sadly, "We can't keep doing this." Alfred frowned. Matthew could see in his eyes that his heart was breaking knowing what was coming. "We have to go home."

Alfred snatched Matthew's arm, "No, we can't! I don't want to lose you Matthew!"

Matthew tried not to let Alfred's grip bother him. He could see the fear in Alfred's frantic stare. His eyes were trembling and his hands shaking. Matthew had to admit to himself that it was disturbing to see such a strong person like Alfred behave this way. He had to confess though, he wasn't ready to let go of Alfred either. Especially not after he finally realized his feelings. "You have my number," Matthew tried to keep smiling, "Call me."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest but a feminine voice caught his attention. She called out his name and his head immediately looked to her. Standing there, behind Alfred's father, was a brunette, with pretty blue eyes – just like Alfred's. "Mom."

"Alfie," She gave him a mature, but motherly smile.

He had never stopped thinking of her but he knew seeing her would seal his return. He looked at Matthew. The Canadian knew what he was thinking and smiled.

"If it were my mom," Matthew told him, "I'd probably cave too."

The American gave him a meek grin. Of course Matthew would understand. His mom meant the world to him too. Laughing he rubbed the back of his head, "We're such terrible mama's boys."

Matthew laughed too, "Aren't all men?"

"I guess…this is it," Alfred looked to the ground in defeat. They both knew the answer. It was over. Their summer of adventure and finding love was finished. Matthew knew it too, "Yeah."

"Well, um," Alfred lifted his head and stuck a hand out for Matthew to grab, "It was fun."

Matthew stared at the hand and then to Alfred's face. The formality was confusing, "going professional already?"

Alfred shrugged, "Well…with my dad standing there...it's not like I could ki-"

Matthew didn't care. It may be over, but it definitely would not be forgotten. Since it would be the last one for only god knew how long – eternity perhaps, he wrapped himself around Alfred's neck and locked lips with him. Through a slit in his eyes he could see Alfred's mother gaze on wide-eyed with surprise and Mr. Jones look horrified and vexed. Alfred's father immediately looked to Francis, who was not as amazed having seen it all before, and demanded answers.

Alfred was too busy enjoying the sweetness of the moment to bother with what anyone else thought. Matthew's lips were soft and moist against his, like a plush, fleshy pillow. As Matthew peeled himself off, Alfred caught his exiting breath. A gust of heaven. Oh how he'd miss that…even if they'd only now done it twice. He brushed his fingers across his lips – it still felt as though a piece of Matthew was imprinted on them.

Without a lingering word Matthew smiled at Alfred and walked away towards the collection of their parents. His grandmother was now with them too – keeping her distance from Francis and Arthur, of course. Matthew walked up to his father and smiled gently, "I'm coming home."

Francis returned the smiled and hugged his son. A part of him felt calm and complete, but another part of him felt wrong. Seeing Matthew embrace and caress the young man he claimed to love reminded him of so many things. It reminded him of his younger years when he was courting Matthew's mom. No one believed in them; no one wanted the marriage to happen, but they defied everyone and did it anyway. It didn't turn out the way either of them had planned, but Francis wouldn't exchange his time with his ex-wife for anything. He had no regrets about marrying Élise. Why should he? He gained an amazingly wonderful son from their union.

He also thought of Arthur. Despite the hurt it caused so many others it was something he could not regret either. Still holding Matthew in his arms he looked to his "British gentleman". How many people had condemned them for their relationship? How many had cursed them? And yet, they were still together. The forces that had tried to pull them apart had failed.

He now found himself thinking of Matthew. Maybe this experience was not a bad thing. Maybe it was not Matthew who was wrong…but him. His guilt was making him stir inside. Matthew had found something great out here…and here he was, his own father, standing in the way. Just like others had done to him so long ago.

Looking at Alfred in the near distance he wondered how the American really felt about his son? _You stupid American, _Francis thought quietly to himself, _If you really love Matthew than don't give up on him. _He glanced over at Alfred's parents. What were they thinking? Did he even want to know? The mother looked kind enough but the father was rather tough looking. Francis secretly challenged Alfred to confront them. If they really wanted to be together they'd have to face numerous challenges. This was only the beginning…at least, a part of him hoped it was.

* * *

End Note:  
- I named Belgium "Edda Poirot" after two famous Belgians. Edda is for Edda van Heemstra Hepburn-Ruston (AKA: Audrey Hepburn). Poirot is after Hercule Poirot, the famous detective from the Agatha Christie novels.  
- Named the Netherlands after William of Orange.

END: Yeah, I know, the ending was a bit weak…much weaker than I had originally planned it to be. I wanted it to be more of a "sad ending". You know, make you all think this was the real end of the story…but it's not. There's another arc…We'll be back.

I also apologize because it was terribly forced. I was hoping to have two chapters with William to build up the attraction since it's SUCH a huge head-canon of mine that the Netherlands has a crush on Canada (see Canadian liberation of Netherlands; World War Two). Their conclusion and departure was sadly forced too…but it had to end. Well…the first arc anyway.

Again, I'll see you all in January for arc two!


	20. Chapter 20 (Arc 2 - 1)

Chapter Twenty

Note: Hope you all had a great break and are excited for Christmas! The story is now back on with new chapters and lots of fun! Hope you're all ready! This arc is going to have more conflict, new friends and wonderful smut. Yeah! Alfred and Mattie are FINALLY going to get into it. …Not in this chapter though. Sorry.

* * *

The August heat was weighing heavily on the city of Montreal. People were stopping to sit in the shade provided by tall buildings to escape the sun's glare. Matthew frowned, wiping his brow. It was far too hot for him. He couldn't believe his lacrosse team would have to play in such blistering conditions.

When Matthew returned he rejoined his lacrosse team and was grudgingly accepted back. Had his team not been doing poorly (without their star player) the coach, who was bitterly angry with Matthew, might not have considered his reapplication. When Matthew returned they were already in a deep hole having lost five games in a row with no wins. Since Matthew resumed his role they bounced back profoundly, going on a seven game winning streak. The end result was a spot in the playoffs. Their perseverance and dedication led them to the finals.

The fans and parents were already there. Most were dressed in street clothes but the wilder of them were wearing jerseys and waving foam fingers. Some even painted their faces in the team's colours: blue and silver.

Matthew, already dressed to play, surveyed the stands and spotted his grandmother. He waved to her and she waved back. She was sitting with some friends of hers. Matthew had known them for a long time. She had been friends with those old ladies longer than he'd been alive. They all sat like posh old ladies would, big hats keeping the sun away from their brittle, wrinkly skin. Despite the heat some of them where wearing long sleeved shirts – in fall colours too! Matthew twitched his mouth wondering why anyone would wear a dark purple jacket in the summer.

In his second scan he found Francis and Arthur. It wasn't much of a scan. In fact, he didn't even find them. They found him. Francis was standing with a shiny navy blue camera in hand, snapping pictures of Matthew and his team. Matthew sighed, _ugh, he did this last year too._

He hid his embarrassment as the whistle was blown to start the game. Matthew grabbed his stick and joined his teammates on the field. They were set in position with Matthew on the far right, his preferred station. Opposite of him on the left was Greg, whom Matthew knew through his friend Nathan. Nathan had played in the first two playoff games but was benched for the semi-finals. He would also be sitting out today. Matthew felt bad for him.

The game began with the toss of the ball and the players spread out ready to receive the little orange sphere from their fellow teammates. The opposing team, coming all the way from "friendly" Winnipeg, Manitoba nabbed the ball first. They ran in strides with an almost militant aura, passing the ball in strict fashion.

But militant order was no match for spontaneous creativity. Matthew called out to Greg in French, ordering him to cover one of the red jersey characters from the Winnipeg squad whom Matthew figured would be the target for the ball carrier. He was right. The ball passer hesitated when Greg covered his man. He now had to find a new target.

As the young man darted his eyes around Matthew snuck up behind him swiftly and waited for the toss. When his opponent found a new target Matthew jumped in front and snagged the ball in mid-flight, stealing it for his team. Everyone pivoted and ran in the other direction towards the other goal net.

Matthew carried it three quarters of the way before he was swarmed by members of the opposite team. He had no choice but to throw it. Luckily, another solid player was available for the pass. Michel LaRonde, or "Michy" as the team called him, was arguably the second best player next to Matthew, and the team's captain. Some of the boys in front of Matthew were tall so he had to jump in order to make the pass, but it was successful. Matthew had soft hands and could easy put the ball in the net, but LaRonde was a born striker. He whipped the ball so fast into the net that the goalie was still in a hunched over, preparation stance long after the orange sphere hit the mesh behind him.

The first goal of the game went to Montreal and Matthew had racked up his ninth assist point.

Everyone returned to the centre in their respective positions, awaiting the tossup. Winnipeg grabbed it again; no surprise as they led the league in starts, and darted down towards Montreal's net with fury. They were out for quick revenge. Their star player was the highest scorer in the league. He would have been second had Matthew not run away in the early weeks, rendering himself pointless for five weeks. LaRonde was not far behind him in third after a spunky go-getter from the Halifax Hunters. Winnipeg's star, Ryans (Matthew could not for the life of him remember the guy's first name), positioned himself into a corner and whipped the ball so hard one could hear the stick cutting the wind. It was an assured goal…but was lost.

"Agh!" Jean-Paul, a teammate of Matthew's, fell to the ground holding his shoulder. He'd blocked the net (his job as a defender) to stop the attack but had gotten hit himself. Matthew wince; it must've stung. He'd been hit before too and knew how much it hurt. There'd be a deep, dark bruise for a couple weeks. Had JP not been wearing protective gear he could have broken his arm.

"God dammit!" The coach could be heard cussing from the sideline. He paced back and forth by the benches until he pointed at Nathan, "Nathan, get in there. You'll be playing defense."

Nathan blinked, slightly shocked. He was all dressed up and ready to play, but did not expect this would happen. He looked over to the team who was more concerned with helping Jean-Paul than cheering him on. Matthew noticed this too and waved to Nathan encouraging him to come on field.

Nathan used his stick to tap JP on the knee, a sign of respect in the game, as he crossed his path on the game field. He simply nodded and smiled to Matthew to show gratitude for the reassurance. Matthew watched with pride as his friend took his position in the backfield. He was excited and happy to play with his good friend. He knew how much the game meant to Nathan.

The game started again with no penalties. The ball was shot into the air and this time the Montreal squad managed to outdo Winnipeg and take charge. LaRonde had been the one to win the faceoff and carried the ball down to the very end of the field on his own. He nearly slipped on a smooth patch of green grass but managed to pull himself together. A quick scan of the field made him guess that Winnipeg was prepared to pull the same stunt JP had. If that was the case, his quick shot would be ineffective. He passed the ball to another teammate who passed it to Matthew. A soft shot was made, but unfortunately it was blocked. Matthew grumbled and internally kicked himself. He shook it off as teammates patted him on the back for trying. He'd get another chance…he'd make sure of it.

When his second opportunity did come around he didn't waste it and back in the net it went. Several rounds had been played before he got to that point. The score now sat two for Montreal, zero for Winnipeg. They went into halftime with the same score.

The sun was still incredibly hot and both teams were guzzling down water and Gatorade. Luckily, the sun was expected to go down before the game was over, cooling the place. Matthew couldn't wait, but until then he'd have to stay hydrated.

When the game was recalled the team was refreshed…but so was Winnipeg. Within the first three minutes they claimed their first goal. Almost directly after that they claimed another. The game was now tied.

The clock continued to tick down until only two minutes remained. Matthew knew from experience that these two minutes would feel more like two hours. The score was still 2-2. Both sides would be desperate to finish the other. He prepared himself for a long, excruciating battle.

Matthew was the lucky one chosen to start the new round. He stood centre across his opponent and diagonal of the referee. When the ball was tossed he managed to outmaneuver the other boy – it was a huge advantage to win the faceoff; it meant your team had control and could strike first. With the ball in their hands they had a chance to score and leave the other team behind.

The orange sphere eventually made its way into Nathan's hands who tried to tip it in, but failed. Instead of stopping the play the goalie passed it to his teammate. The ball advanced forward to the other side passing hands several times. The Winnipeg squad nearly scored twice, but the Montreal team was able to sigh relief as they missed both times.

The ball made its way back to the Montreal squad when one teammate stole the ball and made a quick pass to Michy. The French-Canadian and Matthew dashed away from their side of the field passing the ball back and forth to keep the Winnipeg team off balance.

The clock was winding down faster than ever. It was at this point that the clock began to look like it was moving too quickly. Fifteen seconds, LaRonde passed to Matthew; thirteen seconds, Matthew passed back; eleven seconds, LaRonde tries to pass it to another teammate but is blocked, he pulls back and finds Matthew open, he passes; seven seconds, Matthew tries to position himself in front of the net but is blocked by defenders, he manages to get around them; four seconds, Matthew finds an opening and prepares to shoot; two seconds…

"YES!" Matthew jumped up with euphuism. Once again he scored the goal to win the game (and season) for his team. The last two seconds fizzled out before the ball could reach its height in the next tossup.

The Montreal team wasted no time in celebrating. They jumped on Matthew, tussling his hair, hugging him, patting him on the back, completely forgetting his betrayal earlier in the season. The winning goal was his full atonement. The blond laughed and engaged in friendly physical exchanges with his teammates before a tint of light caught his eye in the stands. He looked up. All he could see was a roaring crowd of fans. It was not exactly what he was looking for. Matthew shook his head, hoping it would clear his vision. He scanned the stands once again. To the left, to the right…He could have sworn he'd seen him. _Alfred._

It had been just over two months since Matthew had called it quits with Alfred and their European summer adventure. The two parted in the Netherlands, vowing to keep touch. So when Alfred failed to get a hold of him and answer his e-mails Matthew began to worry. It saddened him. He found himself thinking about the American almost every day.

"Mathieu!" The Canadian's train of thought was stolen by his overjoyed father. Francis ran up, his blue camera still in hand, and hugged his son tightly, "_Bravo! C'__é__tait fantastique_!"

"_Merci_ Papa," Matthew gave his dad a light hug back. It was still somewhat embarrassing to have his dad cuddle him like a little boy, especially in front of his teammates.

"Yes," Arthur chipped in, "You handled it very well." Matthew tried not to laugh at Arthur's sweaty face. It was most definitely from the heat since the Brit wasn't the type to cave under pressure. The fantastically popular phrase _keep calm and carry on _described him well. The weather was another matter. Even though Arthur had been living in Canada for just over a decade he still found it difficult to adapt. Had they been living in rainy British Columbia it might have been easier...even the Atlantic coast would have fared well, but smack dab in the middle of Quebec? No, no way. In Quebec, when it was hot it was _hot_, and when it was cold it was _cold_. And Arthur complained about it bitterly all the time. Matthew still carried fond (and guiltily hysterical) memories of Arthur having panic attacks over the levels of snow they'd receive in the wintertime when he first arrived.

"Thanks," Matthew felt good to hear their praises. He tilted his head to the side just in time to notice his grandmother and her two friends approaching, "Hi Mémé. Did you see my goal?"

"I did, I did," She hugged him, "You did such a good job Matthew, you deserve to win." He blushed, instantly reverting to modesty, "We all worked hard."

"Who was that one boy?" One of her friend with soft, yet scratchy voice asked. Her hair was short and curly, hidden under a wide brim purple hat. She continued when Matthew gave her a confused look, "Earlier on, he passed you the ball. He was good too. An English boy, I think."

"Oh, Greg." Matthew answered without much thought, "Yeah he's pretty good."

"Well," Francis huffed, "The French boy was good too. LaRonde was it? Probably one of the best; well, next to Mathieu that is."

Charlotte glared. _Oh, so he wants another ethnic battle does he?_ Francis glared back. _You started this you salope._

Feeling the electric sparks between his father and grandmother Matthew nervously wedged himself in, "There's a party afterwards if you guys want to go."

"Oh no, dear," His grandmother quickly ignored Francis. He wasn't worth her time anyway. She placed a gentle hand on her grandson's shoulder, "I'm afraid I can't go. I need to get home where it's cool. Besides, the girls and I have some things we need to do. Have fun though, _mon amour_." She kissed him on the cheek and turned to leave, waving goodbye as she walked away. Matthew watched as her friends left with her – not before giving Francis another snub look.

Arthur sighed; he hated having to put up with this "family drama". He had his own family drama to deal with. Wanting to kill the tension he suggested they get going to the after party (well after Charlotte was out of ear's reach). Francis was still worked up but agreed and Matthew wasn't hard to convince.

)()()()()(

The parents were sitting together on one side of the banquet hall with the youthful team on the other side. Francis swirled the glass of white wine in his hand, the oaky aroma rising from the glass. This hall brought back memories. He was initially surprised and frightened when Matthew came home with the letter announcing the after-party when his team had made it to the finals. It was booked at the same banquet hall that Bruce had hosted his Christmas Party years ago. The same party where he first met Arthur.

Francis cocked his head to the left of him to quietly regard his partner. He was chatting away to the person next to him who was fascinated with his still strong English accent. The old man had served in the Second World War and had been stationed in Sussex with the 2nd Canadian Infantry Division. The gentleman was curious to know if things were still the same.

The memories were both good and bad. The room reminded him of the wonderful moments in life he'd had with Arthur. He recalled their courtship, the imaginative dates they'd go on, from spontaneous meet-ups at tiny, hidden cafes to art galleries. He thought of their quiet state wedding (no church – well, Catholic Church would take them) and how nervous and unsure Arthur was of it all. He also went over visions of disturbing conflicts. No wonder Matthew had left. He frowned.

Other memories that attached themselves to this place were of his wife. She was such a lovely woman; he still felt guilty for ruining her life. Had he always been this way? Putting himself before others? If he wanted to keep Matthew that would have to change. It should have changed the day he heard of his wife's death. He remembered it clearly.

Matthew was acting as councillor for a city camp the day he got the call. His sixteen year old son was volunteering at the camp to obtain his forty hours of community service which he needed to graduate high school. Francis remembered picking Matthew up. He refrained from telling him for hours until Arthur bullied him into it.

"For God's sake, Francis, it's his mother! He has the right to know!" The Frenchman recalled his partner's frustration. He was right, of course, but Francis was afraid. Things had been going so well…why did they have to fall apart now?

The call had put him in a state of shock. Had he been better prepared maybe he could have told Matthew sooner. Having needed some quiet space he slipped into the second floor bathroom unnoticed. The police officer had been very straightforward. If he'd felt any sympathy, Francis couldn't detect it. It was a suicide…she'd overdosed on medication. It was a major blow to his head. Luckily he was standing in the kitchen and was able to lean himself forward on the counter to stop himself from falling over in a daze.

He sat in the bathroom, images of her parading in his mind. His brain was like an old movie theatre, playing static clips of his wife desperately chugging down pills to numb her own pain. His head was in his hands. Why did he do this to her? Why didn't he try to make amends and be her friend? But he did! She wouldn't accept it. _So this is her fault! No…no, it's not. It's mine. If I had been a better husband._ There was no point in what ifs now. There was nothing that could bring her back.

He was so busy mulling the scenarios in his head that he had failed to notice Matthew peek into the bathroom. When his name was called by the now deeper, manlier voice his son had recently broken into over the last year, he whipped his head up. He was unaware that he'd been crying. "What's wrong, papa?" Matthew looked worried, "Did something happen to you?"

The moment was still blurry for Francis. He couldn't even remember how he'd said it. One minute Matthew was his soft polite self, asking if his father was alright, the next he was down the hall slamming his door shut. His Canadian son didn't often cause a temper but in this rare occurrence he was screaming in his room and something (Francis wasn't sure what it was) was thrown. When the room went silent Francis assumed he'd calmed down.

Arthur must have heard the object being smashed in Matthew's room because he was upstairs, at the bathroom door moments later. "Are you alright? Where's Matthew? Did he hurt you?"

"Of course not," Francis rubbed his temple, trying to hide his tears from the Brit. It did no good, but Arthur gave the courtesy of pretending not to see them. "I think he is upset."

"Well that's a given," Arthur had responded with dry sarcasm. "So," he was curious to know, "What exactly did the officer say?"

Francis's mind was too hazy to recall exactly but he recounted the best he could, "She didn't show up for work so…a workmate called her house. There was no answer. Two more days went by and still she did not show. They called Charlotte and she went over to the apartment. There was no answer but the car was still there so she asked the building manager to open the door. He did and they found her. They think she had been dead for three or four days." He rubbed his eyes. He could say no more.

Arthur sighed, "I see." He leaned his head out the door, down towards Matthew's. "I'll go check on him."

Francis crossed one leg over the other at the round dinner table. He was still looking at Arthur, wondering what the Brit had said to Matthew that night. Probably just a condolence speech and some comforting words. Arthur could be as tough as nails, but sometimes…every once in a while, he could be as soft as a marshmallow. Francis loved him when he was bitter and tough and loved him even more when he was kind and caring. He laughed to himself. He also loved Arthur when he was quiet…because the Brit could have quite a mouth sometimes.

Late into the night the couple found themselves tiring and sought out Matthew. He too was ready to leave. Matthew kissed the trophy once more and posed for a few more pictures with metal cup before grabbing his gear and heading for the door.

The ride home was casual. They talked sparingly about the game and plans for next year. Francis hoped, with LaRonde's retirement, that Matthew would become captain. Matthew wasn't as optimistic. He argued that his couch might not see him as being dedicated enough, "…you know, when I ran away…".

They pulled in under the cover of darkness and marched to the door. The air had since cooled but it was still warm enough to wander without a jacket. When they reached the door Francis fished around in his pocket for the key. He found it and pulled it out. Suddenly something dawned on him.

"The camera!" He freaked.

"The what?" Arthur raised a brow. He was waiting for the door to be opened.

"_Merde_," Francis hissed under his breath, garnering a pressed-lip look from Matthew, "I left the camera on the table back at the banquet."

Arthur sighed in clear disappointment, "We'll have to go back and get it. It's an expensive camera." He was getting quite tired and wanted to sleep.

"Here," Francis handed the key to Matthew, "You go inside. You're probably very tired. You've had a long day." Turning to Arthur he said, "Let's go."

"Why can't I stay?" Arthur whined, looking disgusted that he was being dragged along. He was tired too!

"Because," Francis reached over and grabbed his partner's hand, bringing it to his lips. He kissed it softly, "I need you with me."

Arthur pouted but followed him, adding on in a grumble, "I still don't see why I have to go…"

Matthew chuckled internally, a warm smile spread across his face. Sometimes those two were quite comical. He waved as they pulled out of the driveway then proceeded to unlock the door.

Stepping inside he noticed a letter sitting on the floor. It looked like someone had slid it under the door or put it through the mail slot. Picking it up, he analyzed the address. It was for him. He flipped it back around and opened it up.

_Attention!_ The letter started, _you've won a grand getaway to Whistler, British Columbia! Enjoy the outdoors and go skiing! _

Matthew's heart lit up. How pathetic, he thought to himself. But at the same time he was also overjoyed. He'd waited two months and now the time had finally arrived.

Alfred's "notice" was awful by Matthew's standards. He was glad his parents weren't here. It would have been obvious to them too. He looked at the departure time. It was tomorrow afternoon. _Hmmm_, he thought to himself, _it'll be good to see Alfred again_. His skin tingled to think of the strong and sturdy American. The thought of Alfred with his arms wrapped around Matthew, his nose buried in Matthew's soft, blond hair, made the Canadian unconsciously bite his lip.

He shook his head. What about school? His new semester would be starting soon. Could he postpone it? He'd gone so long without Alfred's voice in his ear that he didn't want to waste the opportunity to see him again. He looked at the letter again and shook his head with a laugh. _Really Alfred? Skiing the summer?_

Racing upstairs Matthew packed his luggage. His t-shirts and pants were folded nicely and he threw in anything extra he could think of. Only God knew how long he'd be away for this time. He'd wait until the morning to pack more noticeable things like his toothbrush.

With his bags all packed he pushed them into his closet. Knowing his father, Francis would probably sneak into his room to wish him _bonne nuit_. Matthew did resolve to write a letter this time though. Hopefully his parents would let him go instead of hiring a man tracker to locate him and drag him home.

With visions of Alfred dancing in his head, Matthew fell asleep fatigued from a long victorious day.

* * *

Well, I'm back. Sadly my "writing vacation" did me no good as I only managed to write HALF a chapter...ugh. Hopefully I can finish off chapter two and start chapter three before I head back to work on Saturday.

Word Bank:  
Salope – Bitch (Fem.) …because there's also a masculine form.  
_Mon Amour_ – My Love  
Merde – Shit  
Bonne Nuit – Good Night


	21. Chapter 21 (Arc 2 - 2)

Chapter Twenty-One

A/N: XD What a dummy…I forgot to update my header message in the last chapter. That was the one I wrote when I had first decided to resume posting before Christmas. So I should be welcoming you into the New Year!

A/N2: Warning! There's smut in this chapter! (Sadly though, it's not Al and Matt)

* * *

Alfred paced back and forth in the lobby of the Vancouver International airport. It had been a few months since he'd seen the soft, comforting face of his Canadian lover. The loud noises of the incoming and departing planes along with the chatter of eager tourist and tired locals were blocked out as he listened to his own thoughts. Had Matthew gotten his letter? Would he understand? What if he was mad that Alfred hadn't kept contact with him? Maybe he won't come!

The blond American shook his head. He couldn't think that way. Surely Matthew would come. He had, after all, gone through the trouble of escaping his parents in Paris so the two could be reunited. Then again, it was Matthew who had finally called the whole thing off, opting to go home quietly. Dammit! Alfred cursed in his head. He was letting those negative thoughts seep in again. Perhaps a bite to eat would take his mind off the tension.

Well into his third double patty cheeseburger he heard the flight call for Montreal to Vancouver. It was time to come face to face with Matthew's decision. Would he be here…or not?

Crumpling up his garbage he threw it into the nearby trash bin and headed towards to visitors gate. Since the flight was a national one there wouldn't be any heavy inspections at customs. Alfred figured it wouldn't take Matthew more than twenty minutes to gather his things and get out. In the meantime, Alfred found himself pacing again; rehearsing what he'd say when he saw Matthew…or what his next plan of action would be if he didn't.

Finally the longest twenty minutes of Alfred's life past when he noticed a familiar bobbed curl poking out of a crowd of people. Every spark of fear and intensity ebbed away as Matthew became visible to him. Alfred could barely find the means to move. All he could do was stare lovingly in awe at his wonderful blond partner. Never before had Matthew looked so beautiful to him.

"Hi Al," Matthew walked up casually to Alfred, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, "I got your flyer, though I have to say it was terribly done."

Alfred found himself chuckling, "Sorry." It was all he could think to say. He was too mesmerized for words. Finally, after so long to have Matthew here in front of him…in the flesh. It was overwhelming. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to kiss him. Oh god, there were so many things he wanted to do right now!

"So about this trip to Whistler," Matthew interrupted his thoughts, "There really isn't one, is there?"

"Ha," Alfred laughed uneasy. He rubbed the back of his head, "No, sorry dude, there's not."

"I figured as much," Matthew smiled sweetly.

"I've got something much better planned," Alfred told him. All of his crazy ideas came back to mind and it sparked a ferocious excitement in him, "Dude! Okay, so…how about this…A cruise!"

Matthew blinked, stunned by the sudden forwardness, "Are you asking me or…?"

"No, that's what I've got planned!" Alfred had barely noticed how unorganized his blurt really was.

"I see," Matthew said, "Where's this cruise taking place?"

"It's leaving from here." Alfred said without any gestures, "It's sailing across the pacific to Japan."

Matthew frowned, "That's going to take a while."

"Seven days, exactly," Alfred told him with a wink, "I've already booked us a first class cabin on the Trans Pacific. It leaves tomorrow morning."

"I see," Matthew looked lost in thought. Alfred worried he was unhappy. With a sigh Matthew gave some confirmation to his concern, "Alfred, look, I've got school in September."

Alfred looked disappointed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, "I know…"

Matthew's heart clenched in his chest. He hated when Alfred gave that sad puppy dog look. He always gave in in the end. He sighed again, more heavily this time, "Alright, I'll call my school and delay the semester but," He enforced seeing Alfred's eyes brighten with excitement, "I HAVE to be back for January. _No exceptions_! I can't keep pushing my education back."

"Sure!" Alfred grabbed one of Matthew's luggage bags and whirled around to prance away. He immediately stopped in his step and turned around, "By the way, congratulations on your win! You were amazing, Mattie!"

Matthew blinked and blushed. Had Alfred been there the other day to see his lacrosse finals? He shook his head. There's no way he could've been. He was out here, wasn't he? But then how did the flier get to his house? Matthew found himself standing there utterly stunned. Alfred could be quite the mystery. He wondered what other secrets the American had.

)()()()()(

Francis and Arthur found themselves sleeping in that morning. Francis hadn't been scheduled to work until the afternoon and Arthur had the day off. As the clock struck 9:18 am Francis's biological alarm clock woke him up. His eyes opened and he instantly felt the need to stretch his tired muscles. Yawning the last of his sleep away he rolled over to look at his husband, curled politely under the covers. He smiled.

"Oh Arthur," He whispered, "You're so cute."

Not wanting to disturb the Brit's peace he rose out of bed and headed into the ensuite to have a shower. It took a good forty-five minutes before he came back out. Francis wasn't a woman, but he might as well have been given his obsession for fashion and beauty. He had to use the right body wash in the right places, use the best shampoo and conditioner money could buy, wear the best designer clothes in most chic way and hide those ungodly wrinkles determined to ruin his life with celebrity endorsed cream.

When he exited the attached washroom he found Arthur had already woken and left the premises of the bedroom. Francis nodded sagely, "Ah, he must be in the kitchen." When the realization hit him his eyes grew wide with surprise and horror, "Oh god, my kitchen!"

Picking up his feet he ran out of the bedroom, down the flight of oak wood stairs, a sharp turn into the parallel hallway and into the kitchen at the back of the house. When he got there he found Arthur sipping coolly on a cup on hot tea, reading a handwritten letter in his hand. When he noticed Francis in the doorway he looked up and waved the paper, "Seems your son has taken off on you again."

A frown painted itself on Francis's face as he walked to the table to collect the note from Arthur. Glancing it over, he sighed, the first two lines were scratched out:

_Dear Papa and Arthur,_

_I was recently contact by Alfred and requested to visit him on a trip in Whistler, British Columbia. I know what you're thinking and yes I..._

_Please do not be upset. I was contact by Alfred (yes, THAT Alfred) and asked if I would meet him in Vancouver. I know I have school but I really miss him and…_

Only one line remained unscathed:

_I'm going to Vancouver. Please trust me this time._

_Love,  
Matthew_

Arthur leaned back in his chair as Francis finished. He took a sip of tea before saying, "I assume Matthew will be skipping his first semester."

Francis shifted his gaze from the white lined paper to Arthur, "Do you think?"

"Well, considering this is Alfred we're speaking off…" he was told.

"Ah," Francis sighed, "You have a point, _mon amour_."

They lingered in silence until Francis asked Arthur what he'd like for breakfast. Arthur was surprised.

"You're not going to go after him?"

"Not this time," Francis began his meal preparation by washing his hands in the sink.

Arthur hummed, rubbing his chin. In his mind danced different breakfast plates he might enjoy. There were just too many. He couldn't decide. Instead he asked the Frenchman what he'd like, "Anything is fine for me this morning. What would you like?" Food always somehow seemed to taste that much better when Francis cooked something he actually wanted to eat himself.

Francis turned around and blink in surprise, "You have nothing more to say?"

Arthur blinked too, "On food?"

"On Matthew."

"No," The Brit searched the table for the front page of the newspaper that had been scattered under other sections, "He's your son. If you say you're going to let him go, who am I to argue?"

Francis sighed, "You were always in favour of him going, weren't you?"

Arthur had finally found his paper. He lifted it, eyes quickly scanning the front page article. He had no interest in it and opened the print to the next page, "He has to grow up sometime, Francis."

The Parisian wiped his hands with a white towel placed neatly by the sink, "He's only nineteen."

"Yes and nineteen is an adult," Arthur was half absorbed in an article on the fourth page regarding the trial of a Montreal mob boss. He looked up from his page momentarily, "Francis we've been through this before."

The Frenchman sighed, "I know."

"At least give him a chance." Arthur instructed him sympathetically, "Alfred isn't the brightest crayon in the box but he does seem to have taken quite a shine to your Matthew."

"I think I have decided," Francis said, leaning against the kitchen counter by the sink.

"And?" Arthur raised a brow, curiously.

"I think I'd like to have an old fashion English breakfast."

Arthur blinked, the sudden change in topic catching him slightly off guard, "You want sausage?"

The Parisian crossed his arms and smirked, "I suppose you could say something like that." The air he was giving off suggested he was in the mood for something entirely different. Something more…erotic.

Arthur frowned, forcing back the oncoming blush, "It's far too early for that."

Francis shrugged, "You never used to have a problem with it."

"I'm my younger years," Arthur went back to reading his paper. He barely got two sentences into it when Francis yanked away the long, pulp material. He looked up, half annoyed, half taken by surprise.

"Come now, mon cher," Francis bent over and cooed in his lover's ear, "Matthew is away, we have the whole place to ourselves."

"Yes," Arthur kept composure, despite the lustful little spark that was gnawing at him underneath it all, "and we also have jobs to get to."

Francis frowned, "But you have today off."

"But you still have to go in." Arthur argued.

"Not until the afternoon," Francis countered.

"Francis," Arthur pushed his chair back and stood up bitterly, "I'm in no mood to play games."

"Neither am I," Francis placed a hand on the Brit's chin bringing his face in full view. All Arthur's vision had managed to catch was a blur before he was drawn into a forceful kiss.

The kiss for Francis tasted sweet. For one, he knew if he could hold onto Arthur for a good minute or two the Englishman would be his for the taking and secondly, because he could taste the sugary Earl Grey tea his significant other had finished drinking a moment ago.

Arthur's brain wanted to push away but the little voice in his gut was on fire, calling for more. Dammit all! And damn Francis too! He pushed back into the kiss. Not even forty-five seconds had gone by and he'd already given in. Calculating that it would take too long to get to the bedroom the calm-turned-feisty Brit quickly began wrestling with his lover's belt.

Francis smiled into their endless collection of kisses. _Ah, there's the Arthur I courted so long ago_. If Arthur was going for the bottom, he'd go for the top. Unfastening the first button was exciting and intoxicating. It sent thrills and chills down his spine. He could see it was liberating for his partner too as Arthur's breath hitched at the touch.

With the buttoned shirt all undone Francis moved his kisses to his lover's neck. Arthur's breathy moans encouraged him to continue. Down his chest, down to the navel… Francis looked up and their eyes met. It always amazed him how innocent Arthur always managed to look when they made love…even though the Brit could be just as dirty. He ran his index and middle finger over the forming bulge. He could feel the heat pouring from it, calling to him to feel every inch of it. Francis licked his lips, eager to accept the invitation. Undoing Arthur's belt and pants he freed his partner's member into the open air of the kitchen.

Arthur barely had the chance to feel the coolness on his sensitive skin as it was wrapped up in Francis's warm hands. A groan escaped the back of his throat as his French lover began to massage him. He bit his lip as Francis added licks and kisses along his shaft. He could already feel himself becoming progressively worked up.

Francis noticed this too as Arthur's breath increased rapidly. He looked up and smirked; "Only five minutes and you're coming already? Are you really that old?"

Arthur scowled back, hiding his want to hit Francis in the head, "I'm not that old you git!"

"Then," Francis wrapped his arm around to Arthur's backside, "you won't mind if I do this…" He prodded a finger between Arthur's ass cheeks and further inside him making the Brit blush furiously with wide eyes.

"Ah…" Arthur went to say something, but couldn't find the words. What could he have said anyway?

Clenching his eyes shut made him more sensitive to the invasion. Instinctively he buried his hands into Francis's silky hair. It was so smooth and soft, he couldn't bear to yank it. He grunted a moan when he felt his dick grabbed and sucked with great pressure. _Oh shit_. Arching back, his mind and body became numb. The only two things he could feel were the shivers down rolling down his back and the throbbing of his cock.

Francis pulled off and grinned at the blushing Brit. He licked a drop of saliva off his mouth, making Arthur purr. He would be lying if he said he hadn't wished it was him who was dragging his tongue across the wet spots on Francis's glowing skin.

"Arthur," Francis stood up, shadowing over his beloved Englishman. He pressed closer; so close their lips were almost touching, "I don't want to wait. I want you here. I want you right now."

The Londoner could only nod hastily in silence. No words could express how badly he wanted it at that moment too. He became tense watching his Parisian strip himself of his pants. _Hurry!_ He yelled at the Frenchman in his head. _I need you right now!_ When the black dress pants had been dropped to the floor where they pooled around Francis's ankles Arthur tried not to look down. The erected size of the Frenchman always surprised him, but if he took the time to admire it Francis would get smug. He didn't want to listen to his significant other brag about himself for five minutes, he just wanted to hurry up and get fucked.

Francis slid his hands around Arthur's waist, holding him nicely. Placing a chaste kiss on the Brit's lips, he felt his way down Arthur's backside, past his rear, towards his thighs where he grabbed hold of both legs and pushed. The move had two effects: it separated Arthur's legs and elevated him against the table. It also gave Francis the perfect opening.

Providing a deeper kiss for cover, Francis angled himself and pushed inside his lover. It had been several months since they'd made love and the feeling he'd gone so long without made Arthur flinch. Hugging the Frenchman, he shot his hands up towards the shoulder blades and grabbed them tightly while burying his head in Francis's neck.

When Francis felt Arthur had adjusted to his length he began thrusting in a rhythm mimicking his heartbeat. He found all the little wanting noises Arthur making to be terribly adorable, encouraging him to continue.

Several drives later, the adrenaline caught up with Francis, who panted heavily with his English partner while he fondled his behind. Arthur, balancing himself steadily against the Parisian was meeting Francis thrust for threat, bouncing on his cock with desperate need.

They kissed passionately, never stopping their quickened movements. The kisses, with tongues battling for dominance, amplified the boiling liquid inside them. Like steam from a kettle it was about to burst through their spouts.

"Oh Arthur," Francis nipped at his lover's shoulder, "you taste just as good as I remember."

"Shut up and fuck me!" Arthur yelled back, tightening his grip on both the Parisian's back and cock. The tightened force was just enough to send them both over the edge of bliss, giving them both the release they needed.

Francis had to lean the fully spent Arthur back onto the table as he was too exhausted himself to hold them both up. A cruel reminder of their age. He smirked down upon his tired lover, who was still trying to catch his breath, and commented, "I should have an English breakfast more often."

Arthur had intended to slap the Frenchman, but it came out as more of a harmless tap due to his fatigue. "Shut up, have a shower, and go the fuck to work." It was almost a quarter to eleven.

)()()()()(

The giant orange fireball in the sky was dying every second. Night was setting in. The boats in the distance became silhouettes that danced magically across the waterline as the waves poured gently into the harbour. The tranquility of the scene reflected Matthew's attitude. All was at peace. The silence was broken when Alfred forced himself into Matthew's line of vision.

"Hey, Mattie," Alfred swung his head in front of Matthew's, smiling brightly, "I'm back with the ice cream."

"Oh," Matthew blinked collecting the creamy treat, "Thank you." He smiled at the yummy cold goodie. Ice cream was one of his favourite foods. Every Sunday in the summer when he was little, his mom used to take him to the local ice cream parlour to grab a bite to eat. It was usually after church. The ice cream was cold, but the memory was warm and lovely.

The licked the vanilla swirl on the top as Alfred joined his gaze across the water. He smiled, his eyes sparkling but calm, "We'll be out there soon." Matthew could see Alfred was greatly anticipating getting out there.

"Hey Al," Matthew's question was begging to be asked, "Why now?" Alfred stared at him, confused. Matthew clarified, "Why did you wait so long to get a hold of me?"

"Oh," Alfred returned his eyes to the harbour. He was quiet for a moment, trying to find the best explanation, "I don't know. I just…wanted to see you."

"But why?" Matthew pressed the issue. There was something about Alfred's posture that suggested there was more to the situation than the American was letting on. Reflecting on everything he knew about young man he found himself isolating one subject, "Is it your father?"

Alfred remained silent for another few seconds before smiling at his love, "What makes you think that?"

"Who else would cause you so much grief?" Matthew returned a gentle smile filled with sympathy. He knew what it was like to have a troublesome father.

Al turned around, crossing his arms, and leaned against the metal rail that prevented visitors from falling into the shaky water. He nodded in general, "Well done, Watson."

Matthew furrowed his brows, "Watson? Why am I Watson?"

"Cause dude," Alfred looked at him, only half serious, "You can't be Sherlock because I'm Sherlock."

"Because…"

"Cause Sherlock is the hero of his novels…and so am I." Alfred smirked giving a thumb up, "I'm always the hero, Mattie."

Matthew laughed and rolled away from Alfred, back towards the harbour, "Pfff, you're not my hero. I don't need one."

"Don't you?" Alfred turned back around, getting close to Matthew, "If I recall you were a trapped soul dying to get away from your helicopter dad." He placed a hand on Matthew's far cheek and pulled the Canadian in for a kiss.

Matthew accepted the chaste kiss but wasn't ready to give into the fight. "Fine," He retorted with a laugh, "Next time I'll just jump on a bus and spend a day in downtown Montreal."

"Too bad for that," Alfred joined him in laughing, "Because tomorrow we'll be out on the open sea, headed for Japan."

* * *

END NOTES:

EXTREMELY short chapter…I apologize. Next one probably won't be any better in the length department...I apologize in advance for that too.


	22. Chapter 22 (Arc 2 - 3)

Chapter 22

The last one was short, I know. I'm sorry. I was going to add more to it but I thought that was a good ending for it.

Next week's chapter may be postponed by a week because I'm still waiting on some sources for future chapters. XD I'm terribly behind...I barely managed to finish this chapter today. Sheesh...

Oh well, I'll do my best.

On with the show!

* * *

The ship was enormous. It looked like a creamy white oil tanker with enlarged Lego blocks piled high on top. Both the bottom and the deck were trimmed with black paint and two miniature pillars poked out from the top of the boat. Matthew and Alfred had to lift their heads to fully take in the height of the behemoth docked in the harbour. It was aptly named "Goliath".

"Wow," Matthew whispered breathlessly.

"Yeah," Alfred echoed him with equal awe. The American had been on cruises before but this was the first time he would be doing it with Matthew – and on his own. It was that, that caused him his loss of words. He looked over to Matthew who was still enraptured by the site. A smiled graced his face. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside to see his beloved so thrilled. "Wanna check in?"

"Oh," Matthew turned his head to look at Alfred. He grabbed at it and rubbed – it was a bit stiff from looking up for so long, "Can we do that?"

"Sure," Alfred grinned, giving the Quebecker a thumb up, "I made sure to pay for early check in case you wanted to go exploring before the mass hoards of people get on board."

Matthew's eyes sparkled. How exciting! He'd be one of the first people on the ship! "Yes, I'd love to!" Almost instantaneously the dread of missing home and school were almost completely mollified by the thrill of an adventure on a giant boat. Matthew wanted to see it. The pool, the casino…they did have a casino, right? …the lounge and the bar and the theatre…did they have one of those too?

That enthusiastic smile of Matthew's made Alfred glad he'd put down the extra cash. Matthew's smile was priceless.

They travelled up the ramp, collected their passenger bracelets and room key and received a brochure on the week's events. Matthew started looking at the program but the lobby took his attention (and breath) away.

Three stories high, draped in royal blue and yellow, with dashes of red the lobby looked like more like a church or luxury hotel foyer. The grand staircase had deep blue carpeting all the way up to the mezzanine where a door marked "Dining Room" was closed to the public. Matthew spun around several times to take it all in.

"Fancy," Alfred sang, taking hold of Matthew's arm to lead him to the elevator beyond the stairs. He pressed the button, taking them to the top floor where the penthouses were. Still holding Matthew, now his hand, he guided him to their suite and opened it with the key.

Matthew couldn't believe his jaw could drop any more than it already had. "It doesn't even look like a cruise room!"

"Yeah, I know," Alfred placed his and Matthew's duffle bag by the door. The rest of their luggage would be sent to them later. "It kind of reminds me of a New York apartment or something."

A polished dark wooden floor swept the entire room, an open complex hosting a kitchen, living room and dining area. The flooring theme seemed to continue into the other rooms as well. The walls were a light taupe in the kitchen with a lovely beige glazed ceramic tile running straight above the counter. The walls of the living room and dining room were a pearly white. Two crystal chandeliers hung over the long wooden table of the dining area where there was enough room to squeeze eight people for a meal. The living room had a plush white couch and loveseat with a plant in between their angled position. On the wall hung a large LCD television which was pre-set to a guide channel showing off the cruises special features – both in room and on deck.

"Ooh," Matthew was paying attention to the captain, who was on screen, "They have a bowling alley…and a gym."

"We can check that out if you'd like," Alfred kept his shoes on, expecting Matthew would want to take off and see all there was to this giant ship, "Might as well take a look around while most of the passengers are still outside."

The first room they hit, by Matthew's request, was the casino. Matthew was itching to try his hand a gambling. Being out on the open sea meant there were no laws – at least, he hoped. It felt like they'd walked into a night club. The carpeting on the floor was black with neon coloured dashes lined up in rows. The theme for the bright pillars holding the room in place was a flashy, bright purple with a blue spiral cascading down to the floor from the ceiling. Metal machines were lined up in bunches all across the floor. Some were five cent games, others reached upwards to two dollars a spin. Those ones were for the high rollers on board. Matthew looked around, blinded by all the twinkling lights, whites, yellows, blues and reds, until he found a section that interested him.

The dark oak tables with green velvet covering were off to a far corner, positioned in front of some gigantic television sets. The TVs were off and would probably be off for the next few hours until guests started boarding. He walked over to the closest table and ran his fingers across the soft material. "Alfred," He called to his friend who was a distance away checked out the wickets at the cash out area on the other side of the casino.

Alfred turned around and waved signalling he'd heard Matthew call, but wasn't quite sure of what he'd said. They were too far apart. When Alfred finally was in ears shot of Matthew the Canadian asked, hoping for a better response, "This is the poker table, right?"

"Yup," Alfred said upon approaching, knocking the wood of the table. "Over there," He pointed to a table with a two coloured wheel, "Is roulette. That game is pretty fun too…if you like risking everything you've got on lady luck."

"But your specialty is poker." Matthew said more as a reassurance than anything.

"Sure is,"

Matthew smiled warmly, "I'd like to see you play sometime; before we get off."

Alfred was slightly shocked, but also pleased to hear this, "Of course you can. I'd love to have you sit with me Mattie. Who knows, maybe if you get the hang of it you can play a hand."

They left the casino behind them, heading for the deck. Alfred wanted to check out the pool. It wasn't terribly impressive by his standards but it would do. It was just shy of being Olympic size with two hot tops attached to the left and right side at the end of the pool. Alfred laughed, "In an aerial view I bet it looks like a –" He couldn't finish. Matthew, his face red in a blush, punched Alfred in the arm, "Alfred!"

Alfred laughed. The disappointment of the pool not even being filled at this hour couldn't deter the warm and fuzzies he was feeling seeing Matthew redden like that.

They made their way back inside, careful not to trip on the cluttered blue beach chairs packed into the swimming area. Their next stop was the theatre, which hosted both cinema movies and live productions.

"Wow…" Matthew's voice had an echo in the royal red chamber. Curved rows of folding seats rolled down the ramp towards the wooden stage with an old "western" piano peeking out from behind a red curtain.

Alfred took off for the stage saying, "I bet the big screen is behind that curtain." Matthew walked at a slower pace behind him watching the American climb the side steps of the platform and jolt across the stage to rip the sheets apart. There it was. Matthew couldn't even put a number on the inches, it was so big.

Matthew followed up the side stairs; his head cranked up high see the full screen. Reaching Alfred he asked, "I wonder if they're showing any movies tonight."

"Nah," Alfred held open the white fan-folded brochure, "They're doing a couple of orientation speeches here tonight."

"Which one do you want to go to?" Matthew pulled out his own sheet, seeing that attendance was mandatory.

"Oh," Alfred turned to Matthew and smiled, his eyes looked sharp behind his clear glasses, "We don't have to go those. We've been invited to a First Class event with the captain." He rubbed his stomach, "Fine cuisine and desert. Though really, I'd just be happy with a burger and fries."

Matthew laughed, "Knowing you, you'd be happy eating just about anything as long as it was edible."

"True that." Alfred laughed along with him.

A five minute walk away from the theatre was the games room. The carpet was a strong blue with a shiny, black metallic roof with small circular lights posted in various strategic points to keep the room bright. The place was crowded with racing games, shooting games, arcade games and air hockey. There were also a few pool tables in one corner and a station to exchange your tickets for prizes. Alfred floated around the room deciding what he wanted to play first.

"It's not even operating yet, Al." Matthew reminded him. "Everything is still closed."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sizing this place up for later." Al told him.

A female attendant passed by and Alfred jumped at the chance to ask when the games room would open.

"Oh," The young, twenty-something year old woman said. Her name tag read Julie and she wore her brunette hair up in a bun. Her uniform was the standard navy blue skirt with a white blouse and matching navy blue jacket. Her neck was garnished with a white scarf with a red stripe. She paused to think about his question, "It should be up this afternoon. I'd say maybe…four o'clock?"

Alfred grumbled. He didn't want to wait that long. It was still the morning, eleven o'clock now. He thanked her anyway and looked at Matthew, "Where next?"

Matthew looked at his brochure, "According to the map the bowling alley is just next door."

"Cool!" Alfred grinned and made a dash for the doors, they automatically opened for him and he rushed out and to his right. Matthew sighed; boy could Al been energetic sometimes. He followed behind at his own, more casual, pace.

Alfred was already scoping out the room when Matthew walked in. There were four lanes to bowl in, dark leather couches to sit on while waiting your turn, and a bar area for snacks and drinks. Two large screens were places above the pit where the pins were to show the scores and a person screen was placed by the table of each lane.

"Fancy," Matthew took in the room, examining the fine quality of wood, paint, and furniture choice.

"This place is shut down too," Alfred frowned. Matthew gave him the 'well obviously' look prompting Alfred to change his attitude. He gave a thumb up, "Well come back later and play a game. At least we'll know where to find these places."

Alfred was about to say something else when his stomach grumbled. He laughed nervously and rubbed it. He looked at Matthew expecting a resolution to his problem.

"The staff cafeteria might be open." Matthew suggested, taking the hint.

"But are we allowed to use it?" Alfred frowned. He already feared the answer would be no.

"If worse comes to worse we can always just find a place in town. It's not like we have to stay here. We've already checked in. As long as we get back before the boat takes off we should be alright."

"Yeah dude!" Alfred was ecstatic. They were about to take off when a figure at the bar startled them.

"You're going out to eat? Sounds fun!" The young man was Asian with a funny curl twirling out of his head.

Alfred blinked in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"What? Here? I'm in the Bowling Room!"

"Yes, we can see that." Matthew was equally perplexed.

"Of course I'm in the Bowling Room. Bowling is an ancient Korean game. We invented it." The young man nodded sagely with a smile.

"Actually…" Matthew began but was silenced when the young man carried on.

"So you want to eat something? You can leave the boat if you want. I'm sure there are a lot of great Korean restaurants out there. Kimchi is a delicacy! But if you want I can take you to the staff eating room. We have a lot of stuff there. Fish, hamburgers, rice, tacos, steak, pizza…"

"Woah!" Alfred just had to interrupt. "Did you just say hamburgers!?"

"Yeah, we have French fries too."

"Are you sure that's okay?" Matthew frowned looking uncertain.

"Of course it is! I'm sure no one will have a problem with it. It is our job, after all, to be accommodating to our guests. By the way, I'm Im Yong Soo." The Asian smiled brightly.

Alfred blinked, "Uh…okay…that's an interesting name. I'm Alfred and this is Matthew." The American nudged his head towards his companion. "How about I call you 'Immy' for short?"

"Yeah man, that sounds cool." Yong Soo nodded his head, "And I'll call you Ali and Mathie!"

Alfred laughed while Matthew grimaced, "No dude, try Al and Matt."

"Sure thing," Soo gave them a thumb up, "Al and Matt it is. And you can just call me Yong Soo than."

Alfred blinked slightly confused. They were (almost) back to square one again. Matthew however, was fine with the arrangement, "Yong Soo it is."

They walked out of the Bowling Room and down the hall. The Bowling Alley was one level above the staff quarters where the employees stayed out of sight when they were not working and wanted to rest. The cafeteria was sizable with two round tables. It also hosted two vending machines – one for drinks, the other chocolate snacks and chips. There was everything a kitchen would need: a sink, cutting boards, dishwasher, stove, fridge, etc. All food products had a barcode that was scanned and the amount the food cost was deducted from the employee's wage.

"Wow," Matthew checked out all the sandwiches in the fridge with the accompanying barcodes, "This is very high tech."

Alfred frowned. He wasn't impressed, "Dude, this isn't a cafeteria…it's a kitchen."

"The cafeteria is attached to it," Yong Soo pointed to a set of double doors on the opposite side of the room. He led them through where a few staff members were in line waiting for slices of pizza or Panini's and salads. A long counter with a clear glass shield prevented people from grabbing what was on the other side, but a cooling fridge held colder meals. There was also a heating container that carried heated chicken and perogies and other hot meals.

"I have to know," Matthew walked into line with Alfred and Yong Soo, "Do they have poutine?"

"I have no idea," the Asian answer, "I don't even know what that is. …I'm sure however, it probably has some relation to Korea. Everything does."

They shuffled through the line picking up foods they wanted as they went. Matthew ended up getting himself a Montreal style smoked meat sandwich, with his side of fries upgraded to a poutine. Alfred ordered a banquet burger, with cheese and bacon, and a side order of fries while Yong Soo chose rice and spicy kimchi.

With their food in hand they made their way back to the kitchen to eat, but not before grabbing something to drink.

Matthew opened his chocolate milk to take a sip with Alfred continued the pleasantries with their new acquaintance.

"So," He said, "Why are you working here, Yong Soo?"

"Oh," The Korean's mouth was full of rice. He swallowed quickly to answer the question, "I came to Canada to study, you know? It's important to get out and see the world. I'm working right now so that I can pay to return for more studying next year. I don't want my family to feel financially burdened. We're not the richest family out there, you know?"

Alfred raised a brow. Being brought up in a rich household meant his folks commonly paid the bill. Not that he couldn't, he had a stack load of cash, but why pay if the parents will? While he pitied the Asian he also admired his push for independence. It was something Alfred wanted too. Independence…and freedom.

Matthew smiled, "How noble of you. I bet your parents are proud."

"Yeah," Soo shrugged his shoulders, "They're okay." He pointed his chop sticks at Matthew, "They're just happy to have me out of the house!"

The Canadian chuckled. He was reminded of his own household, "My dad's the complete opposite. He's probably at home freaking out right now."

"But you wrote him a letter, right?" Alfred's mouth was full, munching on a handful of French fries.

"I did." Matthew fought the urge to correct Alfred's bad etiquette. He loved Alfred but sometimes the American did the most unattractive things.

"Well then," Alfred leaned back, his stomach expanding as he went, "There's no problem."

Both Matthew and Soo grimaced. Neither of them said anything but they were both thinking it. Alfred needed to run a few laps around the deck.

A beeping noise interrupted their meal. Alfred pushed forward, sitting up straight while Matthew looked for the source. Yong Soo glanced at his watch, recognizing the sound. He smiled at his new friends, "I have to be going now. People will be boarding shortly and I have to be ready for them. That sound you heard was the signal for all staff to make their way to the Dining Hall for further instructions. You should head to your cabin now. Things are going to get hectic."

"Hectic eh?" Alfred raised a brow with a wicked smile, "My kind of atmosphere."

"I don't think so," Matthew grabbed his shirt and lifted him up from his chair. He nodded to Yong Soo, "Thank you for the warning. We'll be heading to our cabin now. Hopefully we'll see you again sometime soon."

"I hope so as well," Yong Soo stood up to prepare himself to leave, "It's always nice meeting new friends abroad."

"Maybe you can get off in Japan with us." Alfred suggested.

"You're going to Japan?" Yong Soo couldn't help but ask. The cruise was booked to go to Japan and China sail back across the Pacific to San Francisco. "You will not be continuing all the way around?"

"I'm afraid not." Matthew smiled sympathetically.

Yong Soo shrugged. Oh well, it was just his luck to meet two new friends who would be leaving shortly. "That's okay. Japan is an alright country. Most Japanese are descended from Koreans. Did you know that? We also gave them Buddhism." He crossed him arms solemnly in thought, "They are not very nice to us though. They should be since we are their elders."

Alfred and Matthew exchanged glances, not sure how to process the information they were given. They shrugged at each other and smiled a Song Yoo. They waved their goodbyes, "Hopefully we'll see you again before we get off." Matthew added as they walked out the doors. Song Yoo left shortly after them.

)()()()()(

Their table was round with a white table cloth. A single candle sat in the centre surrounded by plates, cutlery and wine classes and a bowl of butter. Matthew and Alfred had spent the afternoon playing video games upon request in their room while the boarding passengers scurried about finding their rooms and exploring the ship. The only time the two boys ventured to open their door was when they received a knock from a steward dropping off the rest of their luggage.

Alfred, being the son of America's fourth wealthiest person, attracted the attention of the captain, a Swede who'd been sailing for twenty-five years. He sat with the two of them after he'd given his speech and asked about their time on the ship so far and what they had planned. Alfred chatted excitedly about having met Matthew and their runaway excursion across Europe. The captain sounded very interested and wondered if they'd visited any Nordic countries.

"Haha," Alfred laughed, a hint of regret in his voice, "No, we didn't. Sorry."

The captain didn't seem to mind. Matthew told him about his lacrosse championships and the captain commented on how modest the Canadian was. It made Matthew blush and Alfred beam with pride. Yup, that was his partner, the wonderfully meek Mattie.

As the conversation around him became a distant mumble, Alfred pondered what Matthew's flaws were. _Yeah, he's meek and nice and polite and stuff…but surely there's got to be a bad side, right?_ A truly evil side…a playfully evil side…something. Alfred wanted to know what Matthew's "bad" thing was. Maybe it was a bad habit, or a bad personal quality…or maybe. "Maybe he's loud in bed."

The captain and Matthew looked at Alfred with confused faces.

"What?" Matthew blinked, "What are you talking about?"

"Uh…" Alfred said straight up, his elbow no longer used as a balancing rod for his head. How much had he said aloud without noticing? By the looks of things it was just the last line. Thank goodness! He laughed it off, "It's nothing. No worries! Just thinking stupid things to myself…"

The party carried on with grace. After dinner and dessert Matthew and Alfred floated across the room talking with other first class passengers. Most were seniors who had spent their lives making their fortunes. There were only a few young people. A girl, sixteen years of age, was there. She was the granddaughter of a Vancouver banker. A young couple in their 30s were there as well. The husband had built up a small company and managed to sell it for a few million. They were celebrating their recent success with the cruise. The only person even close to their age was young twenty-something heiress who was already drunk by the time they'd found her.

"Oh yeah?" She flipped her curly brunette hair while Alfred told her about his ability to fly small aircraft. She added, giggling flirtatiously, "That's so cool."

Matthew stood behind, feeling out of place. His family was nowhere near millionaire status …not even his grandmother who came from a prominent political family. He watched them chat with a small ping of jealousy. Jealous because he could not contribute to the conversation and jealous because he felt lonely with no one to speak to. He looked around hoping to spoke a lovely old couple he could casually bump into that might find it interesting to see the world through the eyes of a young person, but had no such luck.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Alfred pulled away from the young woman, waving goodbye and pressing the issue that he had to go. When he found Matthew standing alone in a corner he walked over to him and sighed relief, "Phew, I thought I'd never get away from that girl." He groaned adding, "She's your typical thoughtless heiress." He stared at Matthew before continuing, "There are always two types: the thoughtless heir who spends until there's nothing left and the noble heir who's determined to carry on the family business. Oh, but there's also the third heir…but these ones are rare."

"And what's that?" Matthew asked, deciding it best not to give any hints of the despair he'd felt over the past several minutes.

"The self-motivated ones," Alfred nodded, "The ones who want to make a name for themselves."

"Which one are you?" Matthew asked, swirling a cup of scotch in his hand. He wasn't a drinker…well, outside of watching a hockey game, but he'd had nothing better to do and needed to waste time.

"The last one, I guess," Alfred shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it. If he analyzed it carefully he'd suppose he could fit into all three categories. Okay, maybe not the second. He couldn't have cared less what happened to his dad's company. Any emotional connection he'd made with the tech giant corporation died when his grandfather, whom he admired, handed control down to his father. Giving control to a controlling person, Alfred huffed at the thought. It reminded him of that old proverb or whatever…ultimate power corrupts ultimately.

Walking back to the room Matthew was surprised to remember something Alfred had said earlier that night. They stopped in front of their doors. Alfred fidgeted with the key while Matthew asked, "Who were you talking about back there?"

"Back where?" Alfred had managed to get the key into the keyhole and was turning it.

"The table…you said you wondered if someone was loud in bed."

Alfred's grip on the key tightened and he looked at Matthew, eyes wide with a dash of a blush on his face. Matthew actually remembered that? In his drunken state? Okay, maybe it made some sense…it's not like the Canadian was completely wasted or anything. He shrugged, "I dunno, no one really." He opened the door and walked into the grand suite with Matthew behind him.

"I just asked because you said _he_." Matthew flopped onto the couch.

"Yeah well, I wasn't thinking straight so…" the American tried to preoccupy himself by looking through draws as if he'd forgotten something in there.

"Were you talking about me?" Matthew boldly asked. Though not tipsy he was under some influence.

"I dunno," Alfred kept to small talk, wanting the topic to die. He didn't want to be reminded of his embarrassing moment.

"Do you want to find out?"

Alfred's head snapped up and sharply turned to look at Matthew. Now _that_ had surely caught his attention! Was Matthew serious? Right here? Right now? They were going to do it!?

He would be lying if said he hadn't been dreaming of this moment. Alfred was no stranger to sexual intercourse. Only a few years ago he'd had several sexual encounters with women during his days as a spoiled heir. He would never dare tell Matthew this. However, this would be his first time with another man. He had played it out in his head a few times…how he would do this. He figured it was just jacking off another man…then he'd learned from a gay internet friend all about anal penetration. Holy crap! So it was like jacking off another man AND having sex with a woman. Alfred gave his head a shake…he needed to get it out of the gutter.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked Matthew. Al knew he was ready for this…but was Matthew?

Standing up the blond Canadian responded with eagerness, "I think I really am!" Alfred wasn't the only one put on the spot by peer pressure. Some of Matthew's teammates had girlfriends who'd they'd get physical with. During both hockey and lacrosse practices he'd get stuck listening to stories about where they did it or some incident where someone almost walked in on them. It disturbed him most of the time, but also made him feel slightly out casted.

Matthew also felt lonely on the inside. Ever since his mother had passed away he'd felt emotionally detached from the world. There was a piece of his heart missing and something was needed to fill that void. Perhaps Alfred's love, in all its forms, could do that.

"Okay Matthew," Alfred walked over to his lover and cupped his chin; "I'll make love to you." He pressed his lips against Matthew's with a deep passion that made the scotch and anything else in Matthew's stomach come to an immediate boil.

Matthew wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do so he prolonged the kiss instead. Luckily, Alfred was equally interested in making it last. He ran his tongue along Matthew's lip, which caused the Canadian to jump back.

"Whoa, what was that for?" Al blinked his blue eyes, terribly confused by Matthew's action.

"What do you mean what was that for? What the heck were you doing?" Matthew eyes were fluttering with disorder.

"I dunno, it's like French kissing or something," Alfred gave him a 'well duh' look.

"Oh…" Matthew looked at the floor with embarrassment, "I thought you were just being sloppy."

Alfred sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "Are you sure you want to do this? Because once I get going, I may not be able to stop." He was bluffing of course. Not even Alfred was sure of this…but there was no better way to know what it was like than to try it.

Matthew's face turned a beet red at Alfred's words. May not be able to stop? Oh man… He gulped. Okay, if he said yes to continuing it would be for real this time. There was no going back, they'd be doing this. Taking in a deep breath he nodded, "Yes, okay."

Walking up to him, Alfred grabbed his hand, "Maybe you'll feel more comfortable in the bedroom." He led the Canadian away to the large king sized suite where the giant bed they were to share rested with its headboard against the wall.

Alfred guided Matthew to sit down on the bed while he stood in front of him. Matthew looked up at Alfred and the American took the opportunity to remove Matthew's glasses from his face. He took off his own and placed both pairs on the bed side table under the lamp.

He leaned over Matthew and kissed him again. Though hesitant, Matthew let him slip his tongue in this time. It felt awkward and Matthew wasn't sure he liked it. Alfred casually sank forward, forcing Matthew to bend backwards onto the plush comforter behind him. They spent some more time kissing before Alfred boldly ran a hand up Matthew's dress shirt. Alfred's hands were cold and rough but strong and firm. Matthew melted at his touch.

Matthew on the other hand was warm and soft. For Alfred it felt like he was gliding his hand across a silky pillow. He brought his hand back out and used both to slowly undo each button of Matthew's light blue dress shirt. His blue eyes met the Canadians when he heard the young man underneath take in a sharp breath of air as the last button was undone.

They stared at each other with a locked gaze, hypnotized by each other's eyes. Alfred was released from this grip when Matthew whispered his name. It was more encouragement than anything. Alfred unfurled the shirt with ease, pushing it down, off of Matthew's arms.

Matthew whispered with a sort of innocence in his voice, "It's kind of cold in here." He smiled.

"Don't worry," Alfred kissed his forehead, "You won't be cold for long."

* * *

Will things get phsyical in the next chapter? You'll just have to wait...

My apologies for any grammar mistakes...I wrote the last 2,000 words in a rush today...Sorry!


	23. Chapter 23 (Arc 2 - 4)

Chapter 23

A/N: Sorry for the postponed chapter! Hope you all watched both of the new Hetalia: The Beautiful World episodes on Friday! If you haven't yet…GO DO IT! DO IT NOW! Er…after the chapter…

* * *

Matthew stared at himself in the mirror, rubbing his cheek. It was a rosy red and seemed to shimmer. He wasn't a self-absorbed person and rarely had the means to compliment himself but the image before him was beautiful. If he had to describe himself, the word he would have chosen was radiant.

"Sex does that to you." Alfred had taken a quick glance away from his video game to respond to Matthew's comment on how his skin appeared to be almost glowing. He smiled knowingly before returning his attention to his game.

Matthew smiled back and returned to gazing at his complexion. He really did feel beautiful on the inside and the outside. He shuddered pleasantly recapturing the scene in his mind. It made him want to wrap himself in a plush Kashmir sweater. But to get to that point of pleasure he had to ensure some serious pain.

And man, those first few minutes hurt like a bitch…

)()()()()(

Matthew blushed at Alfred's promise of warmth. A part of him wanted Alfred to continue with a romantic serenade and the other half wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl at how utterly lame it would sound. He held back, trying to clear his mind and not become sidetracked. He wanted to perform to the best of his ability. If he didn't…if he wasn't good at this…would it affect their relationship? Would they continue to even have a relationship?

He closed his eyes and tried to relax as Alfred placed gentle butterfly kisses along his torso. Each one tickled with delight. Up and down, left and right, they were randomly placed about. The American even ventured to place one on his nipple, making Matthew shudder. He hadn't expected to be so sensitive there.

The kissing stopped momentarily and Matthew peeked open an eye to see why. In front of him, with an appropriately placed glow of light from the ceiling above, Matthew witnessed a truly spectacular scene. Alfred looked almost godly as he unbuttoned his white dress shirt. The Canadian was frozen in time – the only thought was a negative remark against himself for ever joking about Alfred being pudgy. The outlining was light, but Matthew could clearly make out Alfred's muscular tone. He racked his brain for a simple answer. …Football, maybe? Alfred did like sports, especially the classic American ones.

Alfred dipped out of his shirt and tossed it onto the floor. He wouldn't be needing it for the rest of the night anyway. He leaned back in over Matthew and smirked, "There, now we can get warm together." He kissed Matthew, enjoying the taste of the scotch lightly coated on the Canadian's lips. Alfred would have preferred rum but anything tasted good when it came from his beloved Matthew.

Matthew could feel himself slowly warming up. But it still wasn't enough to deflect the chill of the room. Even the broad hand Alfred rested on him wasn't working. It only heated the place it moved to. Down farther and farther and farther and…

Matthew flinched, letting out a nervous gasp. Alfred looked up, his hand halfway down Matthew's dress pants, "Are you okay?"

"Um…" Matthew blushed and looked away, focusing his eyes on anything but Alfred. "Y-yeah…I guess."

"Matthew," Alfred pulled his hand out and cupped Matthew's cheek with it. The Canadian kept a calm face, despite how slightly grossed out he was. Seriously, that hand had just been down his pants. Was Alfred really that bad with hygiene?

"I'm not going to do anything that will hurt you or make you uncomfortable," Alfred continued. Matthew almost wanted to laugh at the irony. _In case you haven't noticed, your hand was down my pants…now it's on my face. That's kind of making me uncomfortable…_

Sighing mentally, Matthew realized he'd have to put those thoughts in a box in his mind. This was sex after all. Of course it would be dirty! It was no different than relieving yourself in the forest while camping…oh but Matthew always brought a bottle of sanitizer with him to cleanse his hands afterward.

While Matthew reasoned with himself in his head Alfred, not noticing his lover was preoccupied, began unfastening the button and zipper to Matthew's pants. Only one more barrier, a pair of grey boxers, stood in his way. He paused for a moment wondering what to expect. He'd heard the French were big…but did that also apply to the French Canadians? But Matthew's father was a full blooded Frenchman. So maybe he's somewhere in between. He figuratively kicked himself for the thought. _Who cares how big or small he is! He's Matthew! That's all that matters._ Peeling back the rubber band, Alfred exposed Matthew's most private body part.

Suddenly the cool air was sending tingles down his cock. What!? Matthew looked down and blushed heavily. When had Alfred undone his pants!? Matthew could feel his heart rate increase intensively. He was now on display for Alfred…all of him.

Summoning up all the courage inside him, Alfred took hold of the half hardened rod, pulling it out into the open air. He'd held his own manhood for obvious reasons – bathroom uses and uh…needed attention when necessary, but never that of someone else. It was half awkward, half empowering. Matthew's deepening breaths and light shivers added to that feeling of control. He wasn't sure when his brain had sent the message to start pumping. He was in an hypnotic daze caused by his mind numbing delusion that he'd actually reached this point in their relationship – where he had Matthew's most delicate feature wrapped inside his palm, like a hotdog inside bun. Such careful concentration had him waning in and out of focus on Matthew's reaction.

Every tug sent the temperature of his loins up. The heat rippled out to his stomach and down to his knees, the epicentre being his hardening shaft. Matthew found it hard to keep control of lower regions. He wanted it faster, he wanted it harder…but it also burned a bit too. Doing it to yourself was one thing, but having someone else do it for you was an indescribable thrill. Biting his lip he realized sex was the world's greatest oxymoron: so good, yet so bad.

Sporadically falling out of his daze once again Alfred remembered to check on Matthew. He looked up to see how the Canadian's face was turning red as his blood rush through him faster than a high speed train. Catching a glimpse at his eyes, Alfred could see they were wide and desperate…like he was surprised, afraid and excited all at once. When their eyes met Al could almost see himself reflected in Matthew's quivering pupils. He winked, "How'm I doing?"

Matthew wasn't expecting any exchange in dialogue, "Uh…just…fine?"

Alfred bounced up like a bullfrog to kiss Matthew's lips. How cute he was.

"It's just…" He blinked when Matthew tacked on something else, "It's just a bit on the rough side."

"Oh," Alfred blinked again. "I'm doing it too hard?" He couldn't be sure, he was only ever used to doing it to himself.

"N-no," Matthew looked down blushing. Gosh it was embarrassing having to talk about it. Arthur and his father were so good at communicating their likes and dislike with each other…so why was it so difficult for him? It must be a quality he inherited from his mother. He tried to explain, "I mean…your hands…"

Alfred nodded, "My hands…" he urged the Canadian to continue. He wanted this to work but Matthew needed to help him figure out how to make this pleasurable for the both of them. He was being hasty because he didn't want the spark to die…not just as he was getting into it.

"Don't you have anything that could…" Matthew searched for the right words. If he said the wrong thing he could end up hurting Alfred's feelings and put an end to his first sexual experience with another person. He swallowed hard looking away again, "make it smoother?"

Alfred hitched a brow. He wants like…lube or something? AH! A brilliant idea struck him like lightening. He knew exactly what he could do to make it more…liquefied. He was a bit intimidated by his own idea but Alfred was not the kind of guy to back down from a new experience. Shrinking back down he kept his eye on Matthew who turned his gaze back when he felt the American's retreat. "You mean like this?" Bringing his lips to the tip of Matthew's cock, he pressed forward taking it half in.

Had Matthew not been so stunned, his eyes widening further, he may have had enough brain cells to command he drop his jaw. Did Alfred really just do that!? It was so disturbing but God it was so good!

_Wow, Mattie's really warm!_ Alfred had noticed as he took the Canadian in. It was both hard and soft all at the same time. He had never given fellatio before, but had had it performed on him by some rather eager women so he knew what to do. Instinctively he began sucking like he would on a Popsicle. Matthew's groaning noise told him he was doing it right. He could feel himself becoming hard and his cock throbbed inside his pants. He needed some loving too! He gave one more tight suck to the tip, making Matthew throw his head back and holler in pleasure. Alfred looked up and grinned, "I guess you are kind of loud."

"S-shut up," Matthew responded, looking back Alfred. He was heated by both pleasure and embarrassment.

Alfred snaked his way back up to Matthew, leaving his hand behind to continue massaging Matthew's cock. He kissed Matthew, enjoying the moan that went along with it. His kisses moved away from Matthew's mouth down to his neck. Alfred's skin tingled when Matthew gently wrapped his arms around Alfred's torso to hold him. His caresses made their way back up to Matthew's lips as his rapidly beating heart demanded more progression.

"Matthew," Alfred stared Matthew in the eye. He could how lost the Canadian already was, his entire soul melting with love and desire. He pressed his forehead to the others, "I don't know if it'll work, but I really want to try it with you."

"Try what?" Matthew blinked. He was barely audible.

"I want to make love to you," Al responded.

"But you are," The Canadian blinked again, this time with a bit of confusion.

"Properly, I mean," The American explained.

As far as Matthew's sexual knowledge went this was proper…but he figured Alfred must be referring to the traditional physical love between a man and a woman. But how exactly would Alfred do this? He didn't have a…woman's physique.

"I'm not sure I understand," Matthew told him, this struggling to normalize his breathing.

"I think I know what to do," Alfred reassured him, "But if anything bothers you, let me know and I'll stop."

"Letting you do whatever you want without me knowing is bothering me," Matthew frowned.

"Just give it a try," The classic American wink was added.

Alfred let go of Matthew's cock and slid his hand across the Canadian's slim waist, tucking it into his backside. He crept his index and middle finger in between Matthew's ass cheeks, causing the Montrealer to shift uncomfortably.

"I don't like that," Matthew frowned. He intuitively began wiggling around as if it'd dislodge Alfred's fingers.

"Oh just relax," Alfred brought his other hand up and flicked Matthew on the forehead, "I'm not even done."

Matthew looked horrified, "There's more!?"

"Yup," Al smiled.

"Like what?"

"Like this!" Alfred swiftly prodded his fingers into Matthew, making the Canadian shriek.

"ALFRED!" Matthew was not impressed, nor was he happy right now. How dare Alfred violate him, especially since he had said no.

Alfred however, was not going to let Matthew jump and run. Not when he was so close to experiencing and conquering this brave new world of gay sex. He took a mental note to describe all of this to his father one day. Oh, how that'd piss the old man off. He loved the thought! Rebelling against his dad and loving Matthew? How much better could it get?

Creeping back up on Matthew he kissed the irritated Canadian, promising that it'd get better.

"How?" Matthew asked, disgruntled, "This hurts…and it feels awkward."

"Of course it does," Alfred grinned knowingly, playing the role of the professional perfectly, "for now. But it'll get better soon."

"When?" Matthew wasn't sure he was buying it. If this was sex, he didn't like it.

"Well for one…when you take you damn pants off." Al nodded down at the half warn pair of pants. They were down to Matthew's knees. Grunting, Matthew hesitantly kicked them off, feeling like he was losing an important piece of protection.

"Next," Alfred acted with few words. He simple parted Matthew's legs, opening them to surround him. "And now…" He continued, undoing his own pants with one hand. He pushed down his own clothing revealing his own harden member.

"Really?" Matthew asked, a hint of fear in his voice. "Are you really going to do that?" Knowing Alfred he knew what the answer was and it frightened him. Had the moment actually come where he was going to experience this? Was there really no turning back?

"Apparently, I'm supposed to do this first," Alfred appeared to be in deep concentration. Matthew wasn't sure what it was either, but he soon felt it. He could feel his ass being stretched out in scissor-like motions by Alfred's fingers. It pinched a little bit, but he'd since adjusted to having something jammed inside him. However, it was nothing compared with what was to come.

Alfred shuffled himself closer, lining his tip with Matthew's entrance. He anticipated a tight squeeze, especially since Matthew had automatically gone into protection mode, constricting his muscles to shield against any invading forces.

"Are you sure you don't want to think about it?" Matthew asked. He was clearly nervous.

"I told you, dude," Alfred tried to be casual with his warning, "Once I get started, I'm not going to stop. I really want this, Matthew. I really want you."

Matthew fidgeted. He wasn't sure he was as ready as Alfred was. He had been so confident many minutes ago…what had happened? Where did it all go? He had failed to shut away his thoughts completely. He also had a nervous tick in the back of his mind thinking someone might find out or walk in on the top. His grandmother would have a heart attack. His father would…his father would give him a slap on the back and a wink. Ugh…Francis…

He was spared his lingering thoughts as Alfred broke them with his slow, but careful penetration. Matthew grabbed the nearest object, a handful of sheets in one hand, a pillow in the other, to clamp down on as he endured the pressure. God, was Alfred really that big!? Or maybe he was just small… He didn't know. He just knew that it hurt. It hurt so much the lacrosse star found himself fighting tears. Sex is awful! He vowed he'd never do it again.

Alfred could see the pain on Matthew's face. He leaned over and up, giving Matthew a sincere kiss, "I'm sorry, it _will_ get better."

"You keep saying that," Matthew choked on some rogue tears, "But it keeps getting worse."

The American frowned. Why was the first time always so hard? He couldn't wait until Matthew (and himself) had been broken in. It would be much easier then. For now, all he could do was promise Matthew it would feel better soon and to not give up. He just hoped, for both their sake, that he was right.

Alfred sat patiently in place until Matthew had adjusted. It took a good two minutes until Alfred had gathered the courage to ask him if he could continue. Matthew, not feeling as bad as he had before, agreed. They were already at this point…might as well finish the job.

Al slowly pulled back out to the tip, and pushed in again just as slow. Matthew's body still wasn't fully accepting of his new sensation but the more the American worked his rhythm the more open Matthew was to him.

For Matthew it was the worst pain he'd endured…and, as both a lacrosse and hockey player, he'd endured A LOT of pain! But it was Alfred. And he so desperately wanted to trust him. The more Alfred pushed in and out of him, the more comfortable he became with it. First it hurt, and then it became a weird tingle inside of him. He wasn't quite sure when it had crossed the boundaries into pleasurable. It had sent a little lightning bolt of curiosity down his spine. Somehow each push sent him a degree higher into ecstasy to the point where he wanted more of it. Harder, faster, deeper!

"Ah," He moaned throwing his head back, feeling his lover push farther into him, filling him whole, "Alfred!"

Matthew's mewling, panting and wiggling put Alfred at ease knowing the Canadian had finally gotten over that hill of pain. From this point on it was nothing but mind-numbing delight. The more he pushed into Matthew the closer he felt to him. Having done this a few times before, he was trained enough to know how to hold back his climax, so it surprised him when, only after a few minutes, Matthew began spilling himself.

"Oh crap!" Alfred grabbed Matthew's stiffened self and held it, plugging the top.

"Ah! Hey!" Matthew tried to sit up, feeling disappointed at the sudden stoppage of his climax. "What are you doing!?"

"What are YOU doing?" Alfred had all but stopped moving, "We're supposed to do that together! Can't you keep yourself from going off for until I'm ready?"

"How'm I even supposed to know when you're ready?" Matthew argued back.

"I'll tell you! Jesus, do you not know how to control it? Are you really that much of a novice?"

"I am not!" Matthew shouted, his cheeks red from embarrassment.

"So you've done yourself before?" Alfred raised a brow.

"That's none of your business!" Matthew was getting irritated.

Alfred was still hard and in no mood to fight. He just wanted to fuck the living daylights out of Matthew and go play video games. "Kay, whatever." Alfred pulled out; leaving Matthew puzzled for a moment. Without warning or notice he flipped the Canadian over onto his stomach, pulled him up, so he was on his knees and rammed back inside him.

"Alfred, what the hell!?" The penetration had hurt Matthew. He was not pleased.

"Sorry, sorry," Al patted his beloved on the butt before going back to cover the tip of Matthew's cock. He began rocking Matthew on and off of him saying, "Trust me, dude. I know what I'm doing."

Matthew found himself enjoying this more open position better. It wasn't as tight, and even if he had clinched his muscles it still wouldn't have stopped the free and easy access Alfred had. Butterflies were forming in his stomach, their dancing tickling him from the inside. The more Alfred pushed inside him, the more they spread out – to his heart, his head, and his throbbing cock. These little butterflies carried their desperate need for pleasure throughout him. They were starving and only the pounding of solid dick inside their host could feed them. And Matthew so desperately wanted them fed. He mentally begged for more.

Alfred could tell by Matthew's nearly zoned out face that'd he found his sweet point. About time too! He was feeling his own insides begin to boil – it was only a matter of time before the dam burst. Just…a few more….There!

Matthew's eyes shot open as he felt the rush of liquid fill him. Oh shit! That had not been expected – it almost completely shook him out of his butterfly fantasy. He barely even realized that Alfred had released him to let his own seed spill out. But despite the shocking finale, he still felt incredibly good about himself. He was also incredibly exhausted.

"Well," Alfred collapsed beside him with a lazy grin, "There you have it." He was also beat, "Now just give me five minutes." He shut his eyes to rest.

Matthew just blinked and watched Alfred sleep. He wasn't sure what to think. He just wanted to watch this person who'd taken his absolute innocence in silence. He was almost void of feeling – it was hard to remember how when his mind was so muddied. As his muscles slowly stopped expanding and contracting, he found the need to stretch.

The shuffling movements beside him woke Alfred up. _Hmmm?_ Oh, that's right. He'd just finished making love to his boyfriend. Stretching himself out, he got up, "I'm going to clean myself off. Then get a snack, then play video games. How about you?" He looked to Matthew.

"I dunno," Matthew curled up lazily, like a cat. "I guess I'll get up and clean off too." He dragged himself up, "I should probably change the sheets."

Al nodded, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

)()()()()(

Matthew sifted through the brochure on the table. He found one that interested him, "Hey Al," He prodded the American with his foot.

"What?" Alfred was still focused on his video game.

"They've got a squash competition. Singles and doubles. We should play."

"Play what?" Al paused his game and looked at Matthew.

"Squash."

"What's that?" The American was puzzled.

"It's like tennis, but on a much smaller and more confined court." Matthew told him.

"Like badminton?"

"Yeah, I guess." Matthew looked back to the brochure. It was the end of their first day on the ship. There were many more days to come before they reached the shores of Japan.

* * *

This one was EXTREMELY short chapter and I apologize for that but I didn't want to keep you waiting longer than I already have. The chances of their being a chapter uploaded on Thursday this week is slim, but hopefully the following Thursday I can have the next one up. Sorry about all this, my schedule is tight and I've been too frustrated and unmotivated to do much...again, I'm sorry.


	24. Chapter 24 (Arc 2 - 5)

Chapter 24

A/N: WOW…okay…I may have to seriously think of changing my updates from every Thursday to every other Thursday or something. I'm terribly addicted to another story I'm writing and then there's real life and stuff. I want to find another job because I'm not satisfied with the one I have right now. Well anyway…my greatest apologies for making you all wait.

* * *

Matthew sipped a mug of hot chocolate as he gazed across the ocean towards the Japanese island of Honshu. The ship's destination was Tokyo, the capital of the country. The Canadian took in a deep breath of ocean air through his nose, thankful for the peace and tranquility of the moment. It was nice to take a step outside onto the balcony of his and Alfred's suite to escape the chaos inside.

Alfred and Im Yong Soo where running around throwing bean bags at each other in an attempt to recreate some World War Two battle. Soo was the 'evil' Japanese soldier and Alfred was the American hero. Matthew was supposed to be the "Prisoner of War in distress" that Alfred was on a mission to rescue but he had little interest in playing the game.

The weeks leading up to this moment were filled with wonderful memories. When Yong Soo wasn't working he was usually with the two tourists playing in the pool, gaming in the suite or kicking their butts in table tennis. The Korean had also managed to get them into the popular night club on the ship for free with drinks half off. Alfred was thrilled and got hammered. Matthew had drunk a lot too. He awoke the next morning with a sore head and an equally aching behind – a sure indication that he and Alfred had gotten naughty again.

Since their first stint they had engaged in sex several more times. Matthew was no longer nervous and it didn't hurt as much. Leading up to it could be awkward at times but most encounters came down to Alfred saying "I feel like doing it" and Matthew responding, "Okay let's do it then" and away they would go. It had gone from being the hardest thing in the world to the most natural.

It was difficult to carry out however, when Im Yong Soo was around. One time, while they were in the pool, Alfred found himself getting aroused and playfully held onto Matthew, whispering temptations into his ears. Song Yoo innocently cannonballed next to them, covering the two in water, then threw a beach ball at Alfred's head taunting the American to chase after him. That wasn't the only fire Soo had extinguished. He also joined in on a game of footsies at the dining room and nearly walked in on the two in the suite when he discovered where the captain kept extra room keys. Alfred was left scrambling to make up lame excuses.

They liked Im Yong Soo…but having a grown up relationship near him was difficult. But Alfred and Matthew pitied the young man since they were his only friends away from home. He must be lonely Matthew had told Alfred one night in bed when they discussed it. He was almost always away from home.

Matthew turned his attention to the sliding glass door behind him when he heard it open. Alfred poked his head out inquiring to what the Canadian was doing.

"I'm just taking a break," Matthew smiled, "You guys are just too much for me right now."

Alfred frowned, "Geez Mattie, if I didn't know any better I'd swear you were an old man."

Matthew twisted his lips trying to decide if he should laugh or be offended. He simply ignored it in favour of an update, "So how's your game going?"

The American shrugged, gesturing back to the room, "It's over." He looked back with a satisfied grin, "I won, of course."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less." Matthew replied with a calm smile. He glanced back to the room again, seeing it empty, "Where Yong Soo?"

Alfred continued his excited expression, "Oh, he had to leave. Duty called him! That's why I won! He forfeit."

"Ah," Matthew said as though he'd been told an important secret, "And here I thought you outmuscled him for my sake."

"Hey," Alfred scooted over to the Canadian, wrapping his arm around Matthew's waist. He drew his lover closer so that their noses were almost touching, "I'd kill him and anyone else who stood in my way of getting to you."

"That's not…necessary…" Matthew's attention was firmly on the lips that inched closer to his. Feeling hypnotized, he let them kiss him. They were sweet and plump. He pressed into them, enjoying the spark they triggered throughout him.

"Matthew," Alfred whispered with a deep, needy voice. He was hushed by the Canadians finger on his lips.

"We're almost at the island; probably another half an hour. Now's not the time." He was told.

Alfred frowned, the heat that simmered inside of him still begging for action. Surely they could cure their urges well within the time it would take to dock the boat. But Matthew would not hear of it. They still had to repack their luggage.

Throwing his hands into the air, Alfred gave in to Matthew's wishes and headed back into their room. He made a mental note to get revenge on Matthew for this later.

)()()()()(

Arthur sat alone at his cubicle, staring at a blank screen. There was supposed to be full length article there, but he could think of nothing to write. He had phoned Francis twice that afternoon asking what he could discuss for his journalist report but not even the Frenchman could help him.

He needed something fresh, something original; a story that would captivate his audience. He had been hired many years ago to write World News but had since moved on to other things. The boss had determined that he'd lived in Montreal long enough to write local news. Arthur was cross about it but accepted it none-the-less. It was better than being unemployed. He had already run the risk of being deported when his first employer fired him for his unruly behaviour. But that was just who Arthur was…

For Arthur 'was' was the keyword. He was the youngest of five boys born into a military family. As a child he had been distant from his parents and his brothers. He was 'the wild child'. In his older days he attributed this need to break the rules as some form of a way to grab the world's attention.

His eldest brother, Bruce, was always the first to do something – first to graduate high school, first to drive a car, first to get a job. His parents were always giving him advice that he could carry down the line to his siblings and he was reminded constantly of his responsibility to take care of his brothers and family. Owen was usually sick as a child so he received a lot of attention, especially from their mother. She was always carting him back and forth between the doctor's and sometimes even the hospital. He was a sweet boy and his mother wanted to nurture his sense of humanity. His father, on the other hand, was always trying to toughen the youngster up. He'd teach him how to fight or use weapons. He also taught his twins, Patrick and Daniel how to use armaments. If Arthur thought he was a barrel of trouble, his twin brothers were ten times worse. His parents were almost always at the principal's office of whatever school they were attending at the time to listen to the principal lecture them on their children's behaviour. Eventually, Arthur's father had had enough and sent them to a strict military academy.

Arthur often found himself being ignored. One would think being the baby would have meant all the world's attention would have been on him…but it wasn't. By the time his parents got down to him they were just too tired to deal with it all. The only response he'd receive for this mischief was the shake of a disappointed head. This often led Arthur to feel neglected and alone.

When he met Francis on that cold winter's night at his brother's party he was stunned that someone actually paid him any care. The Frenchman appeared to be flirting with him, which shocked him all the more. Arthur found himself addicted to Frenchman's attentiveness. For once, someone was interested in all that he did, listened to all that he said, and wanted to know more about him. And all this came without acting up. He didn't have to defile a household treasure, he didn't have to physically attack someone, and he didn't have to be rude and talk back. He didn't have to do all the things he had had to with his parents.

It was hard for him. Here, he had someone who'd give him all the time in the world…and yet, he could not have this person to himself. And he was angry about it. He knew from the moment that he'd met his future husband that the man was married. He knew nothing of a son, but even just the wife was a problem he had to deal with. How could he carry out a relationship with someone who was married? For many nights he was sleepless trying to find a way to solve this issue. Many mornings he awoke with the resolve to end the relationship because it was not real and many evenings he found himself having accomplished nothing. Francis's loving words had spun him around back to square one.

In the end fear and the need for love defeated his common sense. His intelligence and sanity had battled hard but the thrill he got from Francis's touch won the day. Or rather…the lifetime. He begged Francis to do something about his marriage. Day after day he threatened to leave if Francis didn't choose between them. The Frenchman always made some excuse as to why he couldn't. His wife was too fragile for it right now. He had to work out some kind of nuptial agreement with her in order to protect his finances. It was too soon. So many excuses Arthur had heard.

The night he invaded their household – he still couldn't comprehend why Francis would take him there of all places, even with the lame excuse that they'd casually bumped into each other and that Arthur would be spending dinner with the couple, he understood why. There was a child in between them. He often wondered if that would have made a difference. Would it have given his brain enough willpower to say no? Would it have allowed him to walk away sooner? It didn't seem to matter anymore.

Everything from that moment until they finally settled down into their own marriage had been a rocky road. They were so similar, yet so different. They were both brash and spoke their mind, but whereas Arthur liked to read, Francis liked to paint. Arthur liked to refurbish the house and Francis liked to cook new recipes. They could hardly, if ever, find an activity they both enjoyed. Well…other than alcohol. They both certainly enjoyed that. It was the substance that both connected them and divided them. Too many nights they'd fought in a drunken stupor over their situation. It was frustrating for both of them; Francis and his divorce and Arthur with his conflicting mentality. But Arthur could not escape. He was addicted to Francis like a crackhead on cocaine.

When he was alone, he fought his tears. He knew of Francis's past and feared he would become another victim of this luminous man's charm. In the end he would be cast away like all the rest in favour of something better. He eventually wiped away those tears, determined to not let it happen to him.

Francis had proposed marriage rather early – almost immediately after his divorce. Arthur was sure it was his way of getting back at his former family-in-law but he saw an opportunity for himself too. He enforced a clause in their nuptials that if the result of divorce was adultery on Francis's part then Arthur automatically got seventy percent of everything they shared and half of everything Francis had. The Frenchman hated the clause and refused to sign for days, but his reluctance wore out as he was forced to prove to his menacing mother-in-law (the old one) that this was love, not lust.

Arthur was sure that, even now, there were things Francis was hiding from him. He was still curious to know what had caused his husband to go on such erotic tirades with other people. Why had he cheated on his wife not once, but twice? He'd always claimed there was a certain distance between them…an empty void in his heart that she couldn't fill. Then why did he marry her in the first place, Arthur inquired. He wasn't sure. He thought she was right for him. He certainly did find her attractive and she made him smile and feel warm inside…but that thrilling spark was not there. He blamed it on his own past and cultural ambitions – France had always been a bit on the traditional side when it came to marriage and family, but even then he couldn't fully justify his action. Arthur thought him stupid for it. But Francis was just too crafty for this to be the complete story. Maybe one day he'd know. But for now, all he could be assured of was his own part in the complicated story. That and the result of the folly of their desires. Sometimes he wondered if, deep, deep down inside, Matthew silently resented them for the void in his own heart.

Finding himself in need of comforting words he picked up the phone for the third time and dialed his partner.

)()()()()(

Matthew and Alfred had long left the harbour for the city. Alfred compared it to New York, "Only it's neon…everywhere."

Jostling amongst the people in the shadow of the tall buildings Alfred and Matthew surveyed the area looking for a taxi to take them to their hotel. They eventually found one but not before Matthew had to drag Al away from a young woman handing out tissues. The American liked the courtesy but had no clue what they were for. "Here Mattie" He handed the packaged material to the other, "to wipe your nose, I think." Matthew had no clue what they were for either and pocketed them.

Driving to the hotel took forever – or so it felt. The streets were packed with vehicles fighting to inch their way forward. "The subway…it is very much worse." The driver told the two in his broken English. Matthew was hoping to view some landmarks along the way, but this was not Paris. The Tokyo Tower was not as visible as the Eiffel. It was hidden somewhere in the maze of skyscrapers. They were also unable to view Mount Fuji which watched over the city lovingly from a distance.

As they drove Alfred carried on about wanting to visit Tokyo's Disney World saying, "Dude, how friggin' awesome would it be to hear Mickey and Mini speak Japanese? Totally whack!" Matthew just nodded as he stared out the window. He wasn't here to spend all of his time at an amusement park. He wanted to engage in the culture.

They arrived just short of two hours after they'd docked at the harbour. Matthew signed in at the front desk. As he was handed his key he caught Alfred pushing buttons on his phone with a grin on his face. "What?" Matthew asked inquisitively.

"Oh," Alfred looked up, still smiling, "Just a text from Yong Soo. He's wondering if we made it here." Al waved his phone as if he needed to show proof, "I sent him one back telling him we did."

Matthew didn't mind that Alfred and Yong Soo had traded numbers but he hoped the Korean wouldn't send messages to them all throughout their vacation. Once in a while was fine. "That's nice." Matthew said, nonchalantly, almost as if he didn't care. He picked up his suitcase and hauled it towards the elevator. Right now, he was just tired and wanted to go to bed. Even if it was 2pm in the afternoon.

Once again, Alfred had put out for a fantastic suite. Walking in they were immediately met with a little room to their left with a desk in it and a wheelie chair. Beyond it was the room. The bed was stationed to their right and a living room occupied the space on their left. The living room had a creamy sofa pushed against the wall with a makeshift table separating it from two plush chairs opposite to it.

The room itself was very bright with a view of the Tokyo Tower outside. Matthew was pleased with this. He also admired the wood panelling in the room.

Alfred hollered to him when he discovered the bathroom. Matthew followed his voice into a cut-out hall between the whitewall by their king sized bed and a wooden panel. There his jaw dropped at the sight of the washroom.

The glass shower was closest to him. It wasn't large enough for two…but the pearly white jet tub was. The tub sat at the farthest point of the room, beneath long window. There were sinks on both sides and a tower rack. Matthew also noticed a miniature fireplace.

Al sat on the rim of the tub and patted it, "Wanna have a bath?"

Matthew shook his head, "I'd rather sleep."

Pouting Alfred followed Matthew back to the bed. Their luggage was tossed on the floor. They would unpack later. Right now all Matthew wanted to do was sleep and Alfred was, though reluctant to say it, feeling a bit tired too. However, he would not let Matthew get away so easily. The Canadian may have evaded him earlier, but he wouldn't do it a second time. Alfred would make sure.

He watched Matthew undress, scaling every inch of him. To the Canadian's unseeing eye he observed his boyfriend as he pulled down the comforter and climbed into bed, pulling the fluffy sheets over top of him. Pretending to do a courtesy, he turned off the lights, dimming the room significantly. That was when Al's playful side rose inside him.

He crept into bed beside Matthew, acting as though he were going to sleep himself. A minute later he started shifting himself closer and closer to the Canadian until his forefront was in line with Matthew's back.

Matthew, half asleep, wiggled a bit feeling his back compressed against something but ignored it feeling no sense of danger. Even as a hand slid around his waist and rest on his belly he continued to drift away. He was almost to the point of blacking out when a solid object slipped its way past the elastic of his boxers and grabbed hold of his…

"Mmmm," He shuffled, half aroused, half annoyed, "Al stop."

The American would not be daunted. He continued to massage Matthew's shaft while kissing the back of his neck and upper torso. He was grateful Matthew had left himself shirtless in bed. It made a direct "sexy assault" easier.

Matthew had moved on from begging for stoppage to pretending to sleep. Still, his effort was in vain. He was getting harder and both he and Alfred knew it. As he neared a full erection he had to bite his lip to halt any noise from breaking free from his lips. _Damn that Alfred!_ Matthew had just wanted to sleep. Now he was stuck with a hard-on and heavy eyelids.

Alfred's hand left Matthew's manhood for a second to turn the Canadian onto his back. Hovering over, he straddled Matthew's thighs, staring hungrily down at the youth beneath him. Placing his hands on Matthew's chest he trailed them down, back towards the job he'd started.

"Al," Was all Matthew could muster to whisper to the dominating force above him. He watched attentively as Alfred dipped his head down to take in the standing cock. Throwing his head back Matt took a deep breath of air feeling as though he'd plunged into a bottomless sea of water. In his head he was swimming, trying to reach the shores of the island in his mind that embodied his ability to think clearly. But the waves, the lapping of Alfred's tongue over his most intimate part pushed him back, farther and farther into the waters of blissful senselessness.

As he drown in his own desire his world darkened. Every inch he fell was another shade of blackness taking over his vision. Without warning his mind shut off, cutting off his self-control.

Alfred was stunned and pulled away feeling the milky liquid explode in his mouth. "Ugh, shit." He sat up wiping the cum off his face. _What the fuck just happened?!_ One look at Matthew told him what he wanted to know. "You gotta be kidding me? Seriously?" Matthew had fallen asleep. Alfred was devastated and embarrassed. _He REALLY must have been tired._

Pushing himself off the bed he went into the bathroom to clean up. When he returned he picked up the clothes scattered on the floor. Cleanliness had never been an attribute of Alfred's but people do out of the ordinary things when they're stunned and he was no different. Picking up Matthew's jean he felt something square in one of the pockets. It suddenly dawned on him that Matthew had tissues! "Oh yeah!" He pulled the package out and started at the pink foil.

Realizing Matthew was probably still sticky himself, he resolved to clean the young man up. After he'd gotten all of it cleaned up he tossed the tissues away. Now they were both clean. By this time, Al was starting to feel the effects of drowsiness and climbed into bed beside Matthew. This time however, he would not tempt himself to overexert his energy…or Matthew's.

Drifting away beside his lovely partner, all cuddled under the sheets, he thought once again of an exciting day at Tokyo's Disney World. He really hoped Matthew would cede and let him go.

* * *

My apologies (again) for it being short. I actually cut it short on purpose because I was tired of making you all wait. Please forgive me! I promise, I'm not abandoning this story!


	25. Chapter 25 (Arc 2 - 6)

Chapter Twenty Five

A/N: So here I am again. Working hard…I'm trying to be stricter with my schedule. This work week (the one that I started writing the chapter) is long…but next week's is short so I'll have more time off to finish.

…And I realize that I'm probably the only one who knows what I'm talking about because I'm the only one who knows my work schedule… DERP. XD Oh well…wanted to rant anyway.

* * *

Alfred and Matthew trotted around the fish market, early the next morning. They had slept all afternoon and well into the night. They were up, wide awake at 3 am with nothing to do so Matthew suggested they see the fish market. Alfred was in disbelief that even that would be open, but Matthew protested that he saw on a travel show once that restaurants in Japan start shopping around for fish at underground fish markets really early.

"They need to," He told the American, "I guess that's when all the fishing boats come back with fresh product."

The Yankee agreed to go. He was curious to see what Tokyo might look like in its dead hour. He was dismayed to find that it was not, in fact, dead at all. Even in the early hours people were awake and walking about. "Seriously man," He glanced his head back and forth, "Don't these people ever go to sleep?"

Matthew chuckled to himself as he watched Alfred gawk at the busyness of the market. He could be wonderfully cute when he was clueless. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do here. He couldn't buy any fish since their hotel room did not come with a kitchen. Instead he entertained himself with Alfred's facial expressions and the aggressive bidding by restaurateurs for fish. He noticed that Salmon was the biggest demand. Being from Canada, where salmon was also highly prize as a national commodity, it made him feel like a bond was being created with this Asian nation. He wondered if they were big on lobster too.

He wanted ask them. He wanted to ask about many things. But he couldn't. He didn't know Japanese and the Japanese didn't know English. Well, not many of the ones here anyway. Matthew was a bit surprised as the Japanese, from what he understood, did learn English in school. However, it was becoming clear that many of them didn't bother to retain that information. He sighed…kind of like how English Canadians barely bothered to retain any of the French they learned in elementary and high school.

Looking back at Alfred who was blankly staring at an old Japanese vendor lady who was talking up a storm with him – Matthew figured by her tone that he had done something wrong and she was lecturing him…either that or trying to aggressively sell her fish to him, he realized they would need a translator to get around. They had managed to make it through Europe thanks to newfound friends who spoke a language in common with them, but this wasn't Europe.

Walking up to Alfred he tapped him on the shoulder. The American looked relieved to be pulled away from the chatty Japanese lady. He quickly waved goodbye to her claiming he had to leave and dragged Matthew along with him.

"Dude," Alfred laughed nervously, "I have no clue what that lady's problem was but man, am I ever glad to be out of there." He smelt himself, "We need to head back to the hotel. I smell like fish. It's kind of gross." He shouted enthusiastically as he turned away to head back to their room, "Can't go to Tokyo Disney Land smelling like fish!"

Matthew sighed. Was Alfred still going on about that? He really was persistent. "Alfred!" He called out before the American could go too far. Alfred turned around to listen – he had a worried expression that displayed his fear of Matthew saying no to Disney Land, "I think we should hire a translator."

Alfred blinked. He wasn't sure what to say to that. He had been expecting the worst and was surprised. "Oh," He finally managed to squeeze a word out. Thinking about it for a minute he concluded that this was a good idea, "Sure, why not."

Matthew felt better knowing that they would have someone to assist them. Having a translator would double up as a tour guide since translators were taught to act as ambassadors for their country. One summer Matthew acted as a translator in Quebec City. It was the summer after his mother died. Feeling suffocated he accepted a position with the Province of Quebec's Ministry of Tourism giving tour guides of the only walled city north of the US-Mexico border. It was Canada's oldest city, established in 1608, and a favourite tourist destination in Quebec after Montreal. He gave tips to new comers on all the best hangouts and historical sites. He hoped the translator he and Alfred hired would have the same enthusiasm he had back in those days.

The two went back to the hotel to have a hot shower. Alfred insisted they share one – something about saving water, but Matthew waved it off. He knew Al was just looking for an excuse to get sexy with him and he wasn't feeling up to it right now. Matthew went first, making sure to lock the door while he showered.

Rubbing his naked self down with a bar of white soap, Matthew's thoughts drifted to his mother. What would she think, knowing he was running around with Alfred like this? Surely she would support him, right? His emotions sank wishing she was here. He could just ask her. Almost suddenly the topic in his head changed. He was always wondering about his own parents…but what about Alfred's? How did they feel about their son wandering off with him? From what Alfred had told him his dad wasn't a very tolerant man and the two didn't get along…but what about his mom? Matthew had only seen her once back in the Netherlands when his and Alfred's parents tacked them down in Europe. He wondered what she was like.

BANG BANG BANG!

"Yo, Mattie, are you done yet?" Alfred moaned from the other side of the locked door, "The smell of fish is really starting to bother me."

"Yeah, yeah," Matthew groaned, shutting the water off. As Matthew dressed he tried to remember what it was he was thinking about. Alfred's bantering had broken his train of thought, which he was so deep in it was like a dream. He shrugged it off. Whatever it was, he'd remember sooner or later.

While Alfred was cleaning himself off Matthew trudged down to the lobby to inquire about tour guides and translators. The woman at the concierge desk gave him a book to look them up. Matthew stared at it for a moment before the obviousness of the situation gave itself away. …It was all in Japanese.

"Oh," She finally noticed as she watched him blink dumbly at the pages of the book. "My apologies."

Scribbling something down on a piece of paper she handed him a note. "This is my friend," She smiled at him, "His name is Honda Kiku and he is training to work in tourism." She smiled at him before adding, "His English is quite good. I think he would be happy to help you."

"Ah," Matthew smiled, receiving the note, "Thank you. My friend and I will look him up." He waved as he left to return to his room, "Thanks again."

Riding the elevator back to his floor he studied the note in his hand.

Honda Kiku  
713-549-xxxx  
Ikyou Temple

An address was added. Matthew wondered where exactly that was. He'd have to find a map. Luckily, Alfred had an app for that. He had downloaded a type of GPS system into his iPhone to locate the fish market that morning.

The elevator rang as the door pulled back to let him out. Matthew walked out, still looking at the paper. Perhaps he'd call Honda first. The sun was rising and it was just after seven o'clock. From what he understood the Japanese were early risers so maybe this friend of the woman's at the front desk was already awake.

Opening the door, Matthew found Alfred half naked with two towels. One was wrapped around his hips and he was using the other to dry his hair. Matthew blinked, stunned and strangely attracted to this image of the American. His face headed up as a shudder ran down his spine all the way to his loins.

"Hey Mattie," Alfred smiled as if nothing was wrong. He pointed to the piece of paper in Matthew hand and asked, "What's that?"

"Oh," Matthew glanced down at his hand. "I went downstairs and asked for information about a translator. The woman at the desk referred me to this guy so…" He held the paper up to Alfred.

"Oh yeah?" Alfred walked up to him and grabbed the paper.

The Canadian observed Alfred calmly staring at the paper. He could smell how clean Alfred was and it made him woozy. If the American had any thought to take him now he wouldn't protest. But Alfred had proven that timing wasn't really his thing.

"Okay so," Alfred walked away with the paper in his hand, "I guess we'll just call this guy then."

Matthew frowned. Was it really that simple? Could they really just pick up the phone and ask the guy if he wanted to be their tour guide?

Alfred was immune to Matthew's hesitancy and easily picked up the receiver of the phone by the bedside and dialed the number on the paper. He fidgeted with the long, curly cord as it rang once, twice, three times before someone picked up the phone.

"Moshi Moshi," A deep groggy voice answered. He sounded like an old man and not the type that was kind and grandfatherly.

"Hi!" Alfred replied cheerfully, "My name is Alfred and I –" He was unable to finish as a clicking noise gave way to a dial tone. He looked at Matthew and blinked, "He hung up on me."

Matthew smiled sympathetically. He though highly of Alfred for having the courage to try but obviously this wasn't going to work. A shrug accompanied his smile, "Maybe the woman gave us the wrong number."

"Oh maybe," Alfred stared at the arrangement, "I did it wrong." He looked at Matthew said, "The Japanese read right to left, right? It's opposite! Maybe if I type in the number the opposite way…"

Matthew laughed, "I don't think that's it."

Al nodded, "Okay, I'll try again. Maybe he just didn't understand why I was calling. Probably thought I was some foreign telemarketer."

Feeling as though there was no point in arguing Matthew settled himself down in the attached living room. He picked up the black remote and turned the television on. Nearly every channel was in Japanese. Once he managed to find an English channel, CNN not surprisingly, he settled in to watch the news. It was all politics of course. The U.S. President had just given a speech and the commentators were analyzing it. Matthew had little interest but there was nothing else to watch but Japanese game shows, anime, Japanese news and other things of interest to the island.

Suddenly, Alfred burst into the living room, "OH MY GOD!" His adrenaline was high; he'd scared Matthew into being wide-eyed. Alfred was so excited he was nearly dancing, "Guess what!? Guess what!?"

Nervously, Matthew inquired.

"I got through to him!" Alfred quickly explained. He was so fast Matthew barely understood him. "Okay, so, I phone and then the old guy answered and I was 'old guy, someone gave me your number I need Honda Kiku' and the guy was like…nothing because he can't speak English and I thought he was going to hang up but he didn't and then some other guy with a soft voice – not as soft as yours though Mattie, came on and was like 'hi, I'm Honda Kiku' and I was like some chick gave us your number to be a translator for us, do you want the job? And he was totally stunned and asked us to meet him at his temple! Cool, right!?"

Matthew blinked, trying to absorb all the jumbled information Alfred spat out at him. When he finally digested it all he asked, "How do we get to the temple? And what time did Honda want to meet him?"

Alfred thought about it for a minute. "Oh crap!" he suddenly shouted, "I forgot to ask! I was just so excited!"

Matthew sighed. Anyone could tell from a mile away that Alfred was excited. He was laughing and prancing so hard people in China were probably aware of the news.

"Well," Matthew stood up off the couch after turning the television off, "We have the address on the paper. Type it into your phone. We'll follow it and leave now."

"Sure," Alfred smiled at his companion. "Works for me."

They set off a few minutes later feeling more confident in their vacation than they had earlier. Now they would be able to see the little known hangouts and the mainstream events. Matthew hoped the GPS system would accurately guide them, especially since it was some distance outside of Tokyo and they'd have to take the train to get there.

The train leaving the city was nowhere near as tightly packed as the one coming in. Matthew shuddered thinking it crazy that so many were accepting of the cramped conditions and marvelled at how they managed to even get themselves in there in the first place. Alfred was not as amazed. He likened it to the New York subway on a busy day.

The two sat comfortably on the plush green seats as the city rushed past them at lightning speed. In less than a half hour the door to the long, air conditioned train opened and let the two out. It was a bit eerie as they were the only ones getting off.

Alfred pulled out his phone, the GSP still tracking their location and where they had to go. He pointed to the stairs and Matthew followed him. They walked down until they hit street level whereby Alfred consulted with his phone again. He led them down the street, around the corner, down another street, across a crosswalk, down another street, and into a back alleyway.

"Are you sure this is right?" Matthew looked around. Cherry blossoms towered over a stone wall, preventing passing strangers from seeing their stumps. The roof of an old temple could be seen behind the wall too.

"No doubt about it, dude." Alfred reassured his own uneasiness by reviewing the GPS on his phone. "It's got to be."

"Well," Matthew stared at the iron gates. The scenery beyond it was inviting, making them feel more comfortable about entering. But still, why did a public temple need an iron gate? Alfred opened the gate, letting Matthew pass before him, and closed it as he followed. They walked down the white stone path, under the little _torii_ gate and into the main court.

The temple was made of wood and painted red. A small stack of stairs led to the main level of the temple where visitors would buy charms or leave pieces of paper on trees. Matthew assumed they must have been prayers or wishes.

"It is a wish tree," a kindly voice said to them. Matthew and Alfred turned around to find a young man in a purple robe, with a red satin waistband tied to keep the piece together.

"A…what?" Alfred looked back at the little tree.

"It is really a bamboo tree," He was told by the young Japanese man, "But during the Tanabata Festival we call them Wish Trees."

Matthew smiled, "I guess these are the wishes of the people who visited this temple."

"That is correct." The temple keeper said, "Tanabata was last week."

"Damn," Al frowned with a groan, "So we missed it…"

"I am afraid so." The black haired host mimicked the frown, though more out of sympathy, "But you are always welcome to add your own wish right now if you'd like."

Both Alfred and Matthew were thrilled. Even though the festival had passed they still would be a part of it. They eagerly took the small pieces of paper handed to them and wrote their wish. Matthew wrote his in French to avoid anyone knowing what it was. He was curious to snoop on Alfred's though. He peeked over Alfred's shoulder but was caught by the American.

"Hey," Alfred hid the paper under his hand, "No looking! If you do it won't come true!"

They tied their wishes to the tree like ornaments and watched them hang amongst the other papers with pride. Turning around they both thanked the gentleman for giving them the opportunity to engage in the national culture.

"You are very welcome." The young man smiled. He suddenly found himself wondering curiously to them, "By any chance…you wouldn't happen to be the people who called earlier, would you?"

"Yup," Alfred didn't even have to think about it, "You're Honda Kiku, right? I'm Alfred Jones. I'm the one who spoke to you on the phone."

"Ah, yes," Honda nodded with an uncertain smile, "However, you may call me Kiku."

Alfred raised a brow, "You want us to call you by your last name?"

"No," Kiku laughed, "Kiku is my personal name. Honda is my family name."

Alfred was still grappling with the information. He was unused to people spelling their names backwards. Matthew was equally perplexed but let it be. He knew if Alfred began asking questions the topic would go round in circles so he inquired as to whether Kiku had an itinerary for them.

"Oh, um," Kiku thought about it. "My apologies but I am afraid I do not."

"Well that sucks," Alfred frowned, "What do we do now?"

Kiku scattered around his brain trying to come up with a fun and exciting idea off the top of his head. It would have to be something these _gaijin_, foreigners, would enjoy. Perhaps something that would make them feel more at home. Something…western…

"I suppose we could go to Tokyo Disney Land." He said.

"YES!" Alfred was a ball of energy, pumping his fist into the air. The time had finally arrived! His mouth watered thinking of riding on roller coasters, taking pictures with Mickey and Minnie and fighting for a good spot to watch the noon hour parade to the castle.

"Um," Alfred's grin flopped. He knew that tone coming from Matthew's lips. It screamed 'I really don't want to do this'. " Let's hold off on Disney Land for a little bit."

Alfred grumbled with disappointment, "But whyyyyyyyyyyyy!? Dude, what do you have against Disney Land?"

"Nothing," Matthew tried to ease his partner, "It's just…it's the first day. Let's focus on settling in rather than tiring ourselves out."

"Perhaps a visit to the local market?" Kiku suggested.

Alfred was not impressed, "We were already at a market today…and it sucked."

Matthew gave Alfred a short glare, feeling the American may have insulted their host. He proceeded to smile at Kiku and explain, "We were at a fish market earlier this morning. It was complicated to navigate."

"Oh, I see," Kiku said while nodding, "the market I have proposed is a regular food market. Not a fish market."

"Like…with fruits and stuff?" Alfred asked.

"Yes."

"In Japan?"

"Yes."

"Why not?" Matthew smiled, "We can get ourselves some breakfast."

It was almost nine o'clock and neither Alfred nor Matthew had eaten yet. Alfred conceded to postponing Disney Land and the trio walked to the nearby market for something to fill their empty tummy's.

Alfred was amazed at the variety. Staring in awe at a counter with chocolates and candies he gawked, "Holy crap! They have seven different kinds of KitKat bars! There's orange and lemon meringue pie and white chocolate and mint and original and…"

Matthew wasn't interested in that. He wanted to try something ethnic to eat. What were the Japanese known for? Rice, of course! But he could get rice at home. He looked to Kiku. "What should we get to eat? I'd like to try something unique."

"Hmmm," Kiku opened his mind once again, "A good Japanese meal would be rice, miso soup, grilled salmon…"

"Please," Alfred interjected rejoining the group with an orange flavoured KitKat bar in hand, "No fish. Not after this morning."

"Oh please," Matthew rolled his eyes, "You couldn't have been affected that badly."

"Not forever," Alfred counted, "Just today."

"Maybe pickles instead," Kiku told them.

Alfred raised a brow, "Pickles?"

Matthew nudged him, prompting the American to keep quiet, "Pickles sounds fine. What else?"

"Yes, what else?"

Alfred, Matthew and Kiku jumped out of their skin at the voice behind the two North Americans. They whirled around to see the smiling face of a bleach blond young man taller than both of them. He smiled politely as if he had done no wrong. He was just trying to be friends.

"Oh, um…" Matthew was at a loss.

"Who the hell are you?" Alfred was much bolder.

"Oh," The young man's violet eyes sprung open. He smiled again, "_Zdravstvujtye_, I am Ivan."

Matthew smiled, "Well, hello Ivan. It's nice to meet you." He was a bit shaky talking to a stranger, but he appreciated the man's friendliness.

Alfred was immediately suspicious, "You sound like a Russia."

"_Da_, I am Russian." Ivan responded before diving his chin back behind the long white scarf draped around him.

All four stared at each other quietly for a moment before Matthew casually said, "Why don't we all get breakfast now? I'm starving."

"Sure thing, Mattie." Alfred grabbed Matthew's hand and walked away from the Japanese guide and Russian stranger. He glanced back eyeing Ivan suspiciously, though not dangerously. Turning back he shrugged it off. Maybe he just noticed they weren't Asian like everyone else and wanted to hang out. Yeah, that's got to be it!

Kiku was about to hop himself into a jog to chance his employers when Ivan said to him, "Do you know who that is?"

"Oh," Kiku turned around, knowing the Russian was addressing him, "Yes, the one in the red jacket is Alfred-san. He is from America. His companion in the blue jacket is Matthew-san. He is from Canada."

"Alfred," Ivan echoed in a hypnotic voice, "Alfred F. Jones."

Kiku was flabbergasted that Ivan knew the American's full name. His surprise was eased when Ivan explained to him, not taking his eyes of the wandering American, "He's the son of a wealthy American." He looked at Kiku and smiled, "That's why I recognize him."

"I did not know that," Kiku smiled. He excited himself at the idea of a wonderful bonus payment if he ensured Alfred and Matthew had a good time. "We should follow them before we lose them." The Japanese youth added, figuring the Russian wanted to join. Ivan simply nodded, letting Kiku lead the way.

* * *

Short chapter is short, I know. The next one (26) might not be up for a month since my schedule at work is out of whack due to a future vacation request.

But hey...two new characters...yay...right?


	26. Chapter 26 (Arc 2 - 7)

Chapter Twenty-Six

A/N: WOW! It's only just been FOREVER! How is everyone? Good I hope. My hiatus went longer than expected and I apologize for that. I finally got my transfer to a new store so hopefully I won't be as stressed out any more.

* * *

The restaurant was tight, but cozy. It reminded Matthew of the corner cafes of Europe where there was just enough space for less than twenty (at most) patrons. They grabbed a table by the mid-wall with four seats. Matthew chose the chair closest to the pale blue painted wall and Alfred took the one beside him.

Matthew glanced over to see the focused look on Alfred's face. The American was still on the defense. The Canadian frowned. What was it about Ivan that had Alfred so riled up, anyway?

"Hey Al," He was just about to address the subject when Kiku and Ivan approached. Their entrance had been given away by the little bell that chimed when customers walked into the restaurant. He figured it was best to stay silent until he and Alfred could be alone to talk about the apparent issue.

The waitress, in a short, frilly, pink dress with a white apron bounced over at the same time that Kiku and Ivan sat down. Her brown hair were in Chinese buns with equally pink ribbons holding them in place. Matthew and Alfred blinked a bit stunned, but Ivan and Kiku ordered as if it were completely normal. When Alfred and Matthew had regained their composure they too ordered. Alfred wanted an all American breakfast – as American as it could get, at least. For Matthew it was miso soup and fried pickles accompanied by a hot cup of Orange Pekoe tea (milk and sugar on the side). Much to Alfred's disliking both Kiku and Ivan were in the mood for salted salmon. He was going to interject, but was cut off by Matthew promptly slamming his heel onto the New Yorker's foot.

They made small talk while they waited. Matthew was most curious about Ivan and why he chose to approach them. Alfred was also keen to know this.

"Oh," Ivan thought, a smile still painted on his face, "It's because I recognized Alfred."

The American was bewildered, "What?"

"How do you know Alfred?" Matthew asked with interest.

"I don't," Ivan answered, "I know _of_ him."

Alfred raised a brow. Certainly Ivan was speaking of his family and their technology company. He wondered for a moment if he should be surprised or not. Then again, his name had surfaced in the papers not that long ago. Some sneaky European paparazzi had gotten wind of the story that he'd run away with a secret lover and had published whatever details they could dig up. For the first time in a long time he and his father actually worked together on something – trying to cover the whole thing up. Their motives, of course, were different. For his father it was about protecting the business; for Alfred it was about protecting Matthew. It was also the reason Alfred had decided to distance himself from Matthew for so long. Things had to die down first.

By the time Alfred had retuned himself to the conversation Matthew was already aware of Ivan's knowledge of Alfred. They were now long past the subject and talking about the weather in Russia. Since Alfred couldn't have cared less whether or not people were digging out their winter gear in Moscow he stared into space, his chin resting lazily on his arm as he stared out the glass window out into the main street. Only when the waitress returned with his glass of orange juice did he snap out of it. She also had two pots of tea, one for Matthew, the other for Kiku, and a shot of vodka for Ivan.

…Wait…

"Uh," Alfred blinked and pointed at the clear shot glass, "Are you really going to drink that this early?"

"Of course," Ivan's clear smile never seemed to fade. It was as if it was tattooed in place. "It is not uncommon to drink vodka in the morning with breakfast."

Matthew laughed as he poured some milk into his steaming cup of tea, "Is it ever uncommon to drink vodka in Russia?"

"No more than it is uncommon to play hockey in winter in Canada." The two laughed together.

Alfred twisted his lips. There was something unsettling about those two getting alone so well. He felt almost…threatened. Taking a sip of his orange juice he tried to shake it off. He and Matthew had built something strong over the last half year. There was no way some Frankenstein-like Russian was going to ruin it. He and Matthew had been through way too much for that. Besides, he'd finally gotten Francis's blessing! At least, he figured he did since it'd been awhile since they'd left Vancouver and there were no missing posters tacked up all over the world.

Breakfast followed shortly after. Alfred found himself glaring at the salmon on the plates across from him for a few minutes before picking up a strip of crispy bacon and chomping down on it. Also on his platter were two pieces of toast, two blueberry pancakes, some scrambled eggs and…French fries. Alfred found this amusing, but pushed them off to the side. He changed his mind however, when he saw Matthew eyeing the pancakes. "Want them?"

The Canadian blushed and looked down at his own plate with rice, soup and pickles. He'd taken a few bites already and it wasn't to his liking. The soup and rice were okay, but he wasn't big on the pickles. His stomach had already decided for him that soup and rice should never be eaten in the morning. Looking back at Al, Matthew gave a weak smile, "You don't mind?"

"Not at all," Alfred took the miniature plate with the pancakes on it and set it down in front of Matthew, brushing the other food aside, "Go right ahead."

The Canadian stared hungrily at the circular flour puffs and questioned aloud, "I wonder if they have maple syrup."

"I would think so," Alfred took a quick swig of his orange juice, "But it's probably the fake stuff."

Matthew frowned. But fake syrup was better than no syrup and he waved over the waitress to request a bottle.

When the young girl had left Kiku stammered over some words, leaving the table wondering what he wanted to say, "I'm sorry." He quickly apologized, his eyes fixed on Matthew's plate, "But since you are having some of Alfred's breakfast…" he paused. He obviously wasn't used to this scenario. Shaking his head he settled himself, forgetting what he was going to ask for.

Matthew had seen through his gaze perfectly however and did not hesitate to offer up his breakfast, "I probably won't eat it, so if you'd like to have it please do. It's better than letting it go to waste."

Kiku's eyes lit up as he reached across the table to snatch the plate and bowl Matthew had originally purchased for himself. Now his Japanese breakfast was complete. He'd already had a bowl of rice with his salmon, but now he had another – Kiku felt one could never have enough rice.

Ivan suddenly chuckled, attracting everyone's attention to the Russian. "No one wants to share their breakfast with me?"

"Oh!" Matthew was stunned and alert. He hadn't recognized that the three had changed and shared their breakfasts, leaving Ivan out. "I'm sorry."

Kiku too, was regretful. "I am also sorry." He ushered the plate with fried pickle over, "Would you like some, um… Mr. …." Kiku had intended to use the suffix '-san' as it was one of respect for someone you didn't know, held in high regard, or were simple junior to, but not knowing Ivan's last name made that difficult.

"Braginski," Ivan smiled at him, picking up a fried pickle and swallowing it whole.

"Yes, Mr. Braginski," Kuku repeated.

Alfred hitched a brow. Braginski? Where had he heard the name before? He was sure he had. Nothing was coming to mind so he decided to sit on it. It would come to him later. If not he'd just research it on his phone when he could grab a minute alone.

The conversation died down to a few words between bites until the entirety of their breakfast was gone. Alfred had planned on taking the fries with him but found most of the eaten as he chomped on them while waiting for the bill. Alfred had announced to the waitress with one fry sticking out of his mouth that he would pay for his, Matthew's and Kiku's breakfast leaving Ivan to pay his own. Matthew nudged him quietly under the table, but Alfred wouldn't budge on his decision. It left the Canadian with a look of disappointment which he made sure Ivan would see so as to not think Matthew was okay with it.

Two bills were plopped down on the table and Alfred quickly recovered his, adding a grumble over there being no candies with the receipt. Matthew glanced over and smiled at the paper, "Well that's not bad." He said, speaking of the price.

Alfred agreed and fished his wallet out of his pocket. The bill was small enough for him to pay it without the assistance of his dear old friend, Debbie. He pulled out a few cotton bill yen from the leather fold of his black wallet and placed it on the table. "Well, there you go, Kiku." Alfred nodded to the Japanese man across from Matthew, "Consider your first day paid."

The native was so stunned by the suddenness and ease of Alfred's words that he found himself stuttering incomprehensible noises. Matthew was astounded and whacked Alfred in the arm. He gave the recoiling American a few harsh words about being cheap and turned back to Kiku apologetically.

"I'm sorry about him," He tried to look as sincere as possible; "He didn't mean it. We'll pay you properly."

"Oh," Kiku was still trying to recollect himself. He had a few choice words to describe Alfred already swimming in his head but he refrained from speaking them. He simply nodded his head and thanked Matthew. It was all he could do in this scenario.

Alfred was only half paying attention as he watched Ivan pull out a platinum debit card from his brown wallet. It was very similar to his only with Russian writing. When he saw the symbol on it he nearly fell out of his chair. It was the same! _So, Ivan is a wealthy man…just like me._ Alfred narrowed his eyes.

Ivan was utterly unaffected by Alfred's stare but it didn't go unnoticed. He smiled, secretly congratulating himself on catching the American's attention. That had been his goal from the start after all. He wanted Alfred to see him; he wanted the American billionaire to know him.

The rest of the afternoon was a casual tour. Plans were made along the way for future events – including Alfred's beloved Disney Land, and a time and meeting place was set for their tour of historic Tokyo (Edo, Kiku had called it) for tomorrow. Alfred also took the time to apologize to Kiku for his earlier behaviour regarding the bill and asked whether he wanted to be paid in full or by the day.

Kiku was about to respond to Alfred when a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky. The group of four looked up towards the sky just in time to blink away the pellets of rain that fell onto their faces. In less than ten seconds the streets were coloured a shade darker by rain as it poured heavily across the city.

As it happened they were in front of Kiku's home and the youth man invited them in for shelter. Alfred stared out from the porch, a heavily feeling of disappointment stirring in his stomach at the thought of having to run all the way to the train station from Kiku's home with no umbrella. As if able to read his thoughts Kiku's immediately offered them all a room for the night. "You are welcome to stay with me if you would like."

"I'll board in a room with Mattie." Alfred whipped his head around with a positive smile.

Matthew sighed, "What he means is, will your father mind?"

"I suspect not…" Kiku found it hard to find the courage to finish so Ivan complete the thought for him as he studied an old katana displayed in the foyer of the old dojo.

"…If we pay." He turned around and smiled the same plastic smile he'd worn all day. Kiku added his own nervous grin.

Alfred rolled his eyes. Of course, how could he have not seen this coming? He glanced over to Matthew as if to say with this eyes _'whatever you want'_. A simple shrug was his answer. Matthew, it seemed, didn't care one way or the other. The America was about to turn down the offer when a bolt of lightning struck the ground nearby causing everyone to jump. He frowned. It was too risky to let Matthew walk in that. Sighing, he agreed to pay Kiku the charge. It was only for one night, he told himself. But it would suck. He wouldn't be able to touch Matthew and he'd have to polite to that awful father of Kiku's. Then, of course, there was Ivan. He cringed at the thought of being under the same roof as the Russian. How would he be able to address his concerns to Matthew now?

"I hate to make requests," Alfred looked over to Matthew who looked gentle and humble, his eyes glittering against the light in the room, "But would it be possible for Alfred and I to share a room as he suggested?"

_Atta boy, Mattie!_ Alfred was beaming ear to ear. Maybe, just maybe, they could have some small form of intimacy tonight; even if it was just sharing a blanket.

"That is quite alright," Kiku nodded with a smile, he looked back to Ivan to see if the Russian would be joining in the festivities of room sharing.

"I will pass." The Russian told him, a hint of intrigue shimmering in his eyes.

"Of course," Kiku replied, reminding himself that Ivan was a tag-along and not a member of Alfred's party. In the depths of his mind he also wondered if Ivan would be staying with the group and paying his own rate. He turned on his heel to prepare two separate rooms.

)()()()()(

Alfred twisted his lips as he stared at the two single mattresses lying on the ground, each with its own blanket. This was certainly not the kind of comfort he was accustomed to when he travelled but unless he wanted to brave the storm he'd have to make due. Glancing over at Matthew brought some ease to the situation. At least he'd be able to sleep close to his beloved.

A smiled crept across his face as he watched Matthew play with a lantern by the bed. He laughed, "What are you doing?"

Without looking back Matthew continued to fiddle with the object, "I'm trying to see if I can make it brighter."

"Why?" Alfred sat down on the mattress. He was disappointed at how flat it felt. Many people must have slept on it before; dojo students and visiting family members perhaps.

"Because," Matthew glanced back at the American. He waved a book over his shoulder so Alfred could see it.

"Ah," It was all clear to the New Yorker now, "I see. You and your books." He laughed again and laid back on the futon mattress. He was slightly bothered by the light but at least, he had to admit looking up into Matthew's face as the Canadian opened the first page of the only English book Kiku had, that he had a pretty good view.

Matthew's face shone brightly against the yellow light as it poured out from the lantern. His golden locks tousled downwards his long, slightly feminine neck. His eyes were soft and delicate, a soft cloud blue that carefully devoured each word on the page. His pink lips were curved into a delicate smile as though he enjoyed all the boring information displayed in front of him. He probably did, Alfred though. Matthew was smart, he liked learning.

Taking in a whiff of air he inhaled the scent of the room. The wet wooden beams that held the dojo up, the rain as it poured from the sky, the lasting smell of lavender incense that Kiku's dad had put on to rid the house of "foreigner stink", the sweet smell of Matthew and…he sniffed again. There was something else. The flame! Of course!

Sitting up Alfred looked over at the lamp. It smelt of smoke but it also had a greasy smell to it as well. "That lamp…" he started. Matthew paused from his book, giving the New Yorker a quick look as if to say 'what about it?'. Alfred stared at Matthew, "It's oil, isn't it?"

"Yes," Matthew blinked. He wasn't quite sure why this was important and why it seemed to have captivated Alfred.

"Now I remember!" Alfred suddenly blurted out, slightly scaring Matthew. He threw an arm around Matthew's neck and drew the Canadian in for a peck on the forehead. Matthew couldn't help but giggle. What was Alfred so happy about?

"Well?" He finally asked, releasing himself from Alfred's grip, "What has you so excited?"

"It's Ivan." Alfred told him with a smirk, "Braginski. I thought I recognized that name! His family are Russian oil barons."

"Really?" Matthew had a fine curiosity, "So do you know his family then?"

"No, not really," Alfred told him, laying back on the mattress with his hands folded over his stomach, "I just know the name. His family deals with raw materials and mine deals with technology. Those are two different worlds."

"But I would think billionaires mix with each other no matter what their trade is," Matthew closed his book and placed it on his lap, finding the conversation more interesting than the ink of the page.

"We do," Alfred said, looking up at Matthew, "but American billionaires hardly mingle with the Russians. Too much politics."

Matthew raised a brow. He wasn't quite sure what that meant.

"The younger generations don't necessarily follow that model though. At least not while we're young." Alfred continued.

"Good," Matthew said, suddenly having a surge of returned interest in his book he picked it back up again, "Then there'll be no more glaring at Ivan, right?"

Alfred shrugged, "No guarantees, Mattie."

"And why not?" Matthew returned to his page, finding the sentence he left with.

"Because," Alfred swooped up, grabbing Matthew's cheek. He pressed his lips onto the other's and drew back with a smile, "I didn't like the way he looked at you."

Satisfied with himself Alfred rolled over and wrapped himself up in the blanket to sleep.

Matthew frowned, "I'm the one who should be saying that. His interest is with you, not me."

"Then why aren't you put off by him?" Alfred closed his eyes, pretending to be tired.

"Because I'm not a judgmental prick like you." Matthew said, staring down at the words on the page. He didn't think to process the idea of Alfred's retaliation and was started when it came. "Ack!" He rubbed the leg Alfred had kicked with his foot. Still lying down as if sleeping the American claimed it was an accident. His foot had slipped. Matthew was not convinced in the least, "Your foot slipped, my ass."

"Speaking of your ass…" Alfred suddenly jumped up into a sitting position, his fake sleepiness washed away by a newly found energy.

"No way," Matthew took the hint and was disgruntled. There was no way they were having sex in Kiku's dojo, especially with Ivan in the next room.

"C'mon Mattie," Alfred snuck an arm around the Canadian's waist, drawing him closer and winked, "We'll be very, very quiet."

"Al," Matthew eyes showed his fears. He whispered to avoid stirring anyone's slumber, "We're in someone's house. We can't do that. It would be rude."

Unfortunately for Matthew, Alfred had a vague concept of rude. He didn't consider it rude at all…well, as long as they didn't get caught and cleaned up. He grabbed Matthew's face and tilted his head up, bringing his own face in nice and slow. Their kiss started simple and sweet but progressed to needy aggression – at least on Alfred's part.

"No, Al," Matthew pushed the American away, trying to deny his own burning desire. The thought of being discovered disturbed him on so many different levels. Not only because they were a gay couple (and Kiku's family gave a very conservative vibe) but because no one wanted two strangers making out in their home. They would most certainly be cast into the streets; and the rain had still not worn down.

Alfred was never good at taking no for an answer. The more Matthew pushed away, the more he wanted him. It had long been this way. Snaking his hand across the patch of floor between their mattresses and underneath Matthew's blanket he brushed his fingers across Matthew's growing erection and smirked, "what's this?"

Matthew rushed to grab the American's hand and remove it but Alfred was quicker, stopping him with his free arm. When the Quebecker looked at him with large, innocent eyes he couldn't help but kiss him again. He also couldn't help but grope the bulge hidden under the cotton boxers his companion was wearing. He was rewarded with a pleasant moan from Matthew that tickled him as they continued to lock lips. Alfred couldn't help but grin with satisfaction.

Matthew hated himself for loving it so much. The feel of Alfred's calloused hand fondling his most sensitive part, the smell of salty skin mixed with musty rain and the taste; the taste of Alfred. As much as he wanted to do the politically correct thing (as sign that his brain was still functioning) his body, its temperature rising despite the chilly air, urged him to himself closer to Alfred.

He sighed when Alfred released him from their passionate kiss, overwhelmed by all of his senses. His groin, fully erect, still tingled as the New Yorker played with it. It would take a huge bucket of ice to cool this boner off. Either that or…

Although Alfred was never very good at reading the mood he certainly did know how to read Matthew. The eyes of his lover Canuck protested loudly that the body they were attached to desperately wanted more; and more he would give. Creeping his hand under the elastic he grabbed hold of the cock, already dribbling with pre cum. As he held is strong, beginning to move from the tip to the base, he felt a surge of power in his chest. Once again, Matthew was his to do as he pleased.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Matthew tried to stay calm. For some odd reason he found himself thinking of science class and how, when heated, particles tended to move faster. Was this why Alfred's hand was picking up speed? Was this why the blood in his body was rushing like a race car on a circuit? Was this why his damn cock remained firmly pointed at the ceiling!? He shuddered as an electric bolt when hurtling down his spine. Had he known better he would've thought he'd been struck by lightning. But alas, it was just Alfred. Alfred and the cool night air encircling his private as it became, well, not so private.

For Alfred it was exhilarating. Watching Matthew's cock spring free of its confinement was almost as exciting as watching one of those PBS documentaries about the American War of Independence. Freedom, sweet freedom! His family had long reaped the benefits of a free America, now he would reap the benefits of a freed Matthew. Cupping his hand around the far side he pulled the fleshy cylinder towards his mouth and licked it, catching a taste. Hearing no noise he assumed Matthew had braced himself for it. He wanted to look up and see the blond biting his lip in blissful anguish but stayed the course.

He lashed it with his tongue a few more times before consuming it slowly. First the tip, then the length bit by bit until he reached the base. Now he could hear him. He could detect all the little huffs and puffs Matthew was making, trying to keep himself steady. At least he wasn't fighting it, Alfred reminded himself. Not that he would… Alfred grinned evilly inside himself. Matthew just didn't have what took to resist Alfred's touch.

The tingling was now spreading throughout his body. Matthew could feel it in his toes and sliding towards his fingers. He could also feel his muscles twitching, especially the ones in his thighs. They wanted to spring forward, to rocket his throbbing cock further into the wet and pleasantly warm cavern of Alfred's throat. But he wasn't like Alfred. He didn't simply want to fuck someone's mouth as hard and as fast as he could. No, he was perfectly happy (satisfied, actually) to have Alfred do all the work. Sighing, he fell backward becoming more and more numb as Al sucked all of his resistance away.

Alfred became alert as Matthew dropped back. Had he seriously fallen asleep? Pulling himself off Matthew's manhood he looked at his partner, wiping some saliva off the corner of his mouth. He blinked, "Yo, Mattie?"

"Hmm," Matthew responded lazily. His mind was too hazy, lost in a sea of clouds, to answer with words.

"You sleeping?"

"Hmmm," He grunted again until he realized he had to say something. His voice vibrated as he replied, "No."

"Then why are you lying down?"

"Because," Matthew was upset. The last thing he wanted to do was tell Alfred that he was fully willing to be fucked; especially after he'd argued against it. But the longer Alfred went without touching him the more he realized he'd have to own up. He pulled himself up part way to gaze down at Alfred, "I dunno, I just…with everything you're doing…" He hoped that would be enough.

But it wasn't. Alfred knew full well what Matthew was trying to say. It explained the wanton grin on his face. However, he wasn't going to let Matthew get away with a lame duck explanation. "Say it."

Matthew frowned. There was no way he was going to say it.

Alfred said it again, "Say it." He meant every word of it. Either Matthew would say it, or he'd roll over and go to bed. Not that he wanted to…he had a little problem of his own growing down south. One way or another he'd make the Canadian say it.

Matthew was stubborn. He shook his head, his cheeks blushing a rosy red.

"Well then," At first Alfred appeared to be giving him the okay hand sign, but as soon as Matthew thought he was in the clear, Alfred flicked his cock.

"Ah!" It was more painful (and pleasuring) than Matthew had anticipated.

"Matthew, be quiet." Alfred flicked him again, "You might wake someone up."

Matthew bit down hard on his lip. If he screamed too loudly he'd wake up the whole house. He'd never forgive himself (or Alfred) if he was caught, half naked, in bed with another man. Nearly on the verge of breaking a few blood vessels in his lip he finally conceded, begging Alfred to stop, "Okay, I'll say it."

"Say what?" Alfred beamed. He was all ears.

Matthew frowned, completely embarrassed with himself. In a low, defeated voice he said, "Fuck me."

"What's that?" Alfred teased, "I didn't hear you. Say it again. Louder this time."

"I can't," Matthew narrowed his eyes, his voice picking up, "We'll wake someone up."

The New Yorker shrugged, "Either way your voice will wake someone up." Matthew knew he meant the flicking.

Matthew took a deep breath then exhaled, "Alfred, I want you to fuck me."

Alfred winked, "You need me."

Matthew was getting tired of this game. So was his burning cock. He nodded, "I do."

"Okay than," Alfred slid up to Matthew's face, kissing him chastely. He pushed Matthew back down and threw a leg over his waist, pinning the Canadian to the ground. "I think I want to try something different," He trailed a long, soft line from the outside of Matthew's thigh to his rib cage.

"What's that?" Matthew asked quietly.

Alfred pulled off him and proceeded to pull his own boxers down, releasing his own erection. He sat down, legs spread out, with his knees pointing towards the ceiling. He beckoned Matthew over.

"You want me to sit in your lap?" Matthew was dumbfounded. They looked to be same height and build. Wouldn't the extra weight hurt Alfred?

"Yup." Alfred seemed to care little and think less. He just sat there, ready to go, like a child watching the clock waiting for school to end with less than one minute 'til finish.

Matthew knew better than to argue for a second time. He crawled over and let Alfred guide him into his lap and onto his cock. It hurt badly at first. A few bounces in and Matthew had to pull off. It was too much. Alfred stopped to think about it before a giant bulb of light went off. Matthew had thought it was because he hadn't been stretched, but the more experienced Alfred had the answer.

"It's the lube, dude." He gave a sincere and sympathetic smile. He'd had sex with a male associate once without lube and the guy (because God forbid Alfred ever bottom) wound up having defecating problems because the flesh on the inside of his channel had been torn. He was glad Matthew had gotten off. From what his associate told him he gathered that it hurt like a bitch. Alfred definitely didn't want that for Matthew. Of course, he'd learned from his great mistake of not being prepared for spontaneous sex and made sure to keep a miniature bottle with him. And being with Matthew meant he had to have it all the time.

It only took a few moments to lather up and place Matthew back on him. It was still tight and it still bothered the Quebecor a bit but eventually they found an agreeable rhythm. Originally Matthew's legs had been tightly squeezed together inside Alfred's but the American took over by grabbing those legs and pulling them apart to wrap them around the outside of his legs, exposing Matthew's loosed cock to the room. With one arm around Matthew's waist holding him close as they moved together, he used his free hand to grab the springing length and pump it.

His eyes clenched shut; Matthew fought the urge to cry out for more. Feeling every inch of that hot, sticky cock Alfred possessed moving inside him pushed him closer to the edge of own stability. He felt like a kettle on the stove. Every push and pull inside him was like the heating of the burner. The little bits of cum that trickled out was the puff of evaporated smoke that began to push its way out of the nozzle. It all led up to that great moment when the steam came spurting out along with the whistle noise. Matthew anticipated that moment, when his steam would come rushing forward.

Alfred could hardly wait for it either. He was pounding Matthew away relentlessly, not caring who could hear the slapping of their flesh. _Fuck Kiku! Fuck his dad! And fuck Ivan! I want them to watch me fucking him!_

It ended almost as instantaneously as it began. Matthew had come first, spreading his seed all over Alfred's hand and his own lower body. He finished with a great sigh of relief, as if he'd been relinquished of every burden he'd ever had to bare. It was Matthew's heavy response that did Alfred in, spilling into Matthew. They were both left nearly breathless, warm and sweaty.

Leaning his head back to nuzzle into Alfred neck, Matthew whispered, "I hope no one heard."

Alfred kissed his head, "We'll just clean up. No one has to know."

But someone did know. And he found it rather amusing.

* * *

Well, there you go friends! I hope it was worth the two months (or more) wait. Only god knows when I'll have the next one up, but I'll keep trying. Thanks for all your support!


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